Champions of the Deep part VII: Kharon's Book
by Brother Andyn
Summary: The infamous Red Wolves are on a quest to find the lost book of Kharon Baal. If Lord Merideon can find this book, he is promised the return of his homeland. But will he want to return home at all should he find the book, with all its dark knowledge...
1. Chapter 1: Wasteland

_Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

I

Wasteland

The band of men dragged themselves across the windswept plain, a ghostly wail echoing somewhere in the recesses of their minds. Or was it real? Nothing was certain, here in the Chaos Wastes. The heavens above stirred with rainbow colours, like a soup made from the entrails and blood of a great quarg. The comrades walked in silence, each one contemplating their fate.

They had started on a quest to find the Soulstone, an item able to trap a daemon within. Now that gem held the daemon lord Verag and was fixed in Magnus' blade. The knight grimaced, feeling the creature's rage ebbing and flowing in the blade of the massive sword he carried. Transported here to the Chaos Wastes, through the damned book of a Chaos Sorcerer, he wished he could get a good night's sleep and a drink.

Merideon felt fatigue clutching at his senses like clawed hands. They grasped at his soul, pulling and tugging at his mind. If they didn't find somewhere to hole up soon he would fall down where he stood and sleep. He missed Gabrielle; he wanted a fine wine and a good bed. Forcing himself to keep going, he reasoned that the book was a clue. The sorcerer had surely been Kharon Baal. Somehow, he knew it, and he also knew that Kharon was leading him on a merry chase, one that might lead him to his book. Now, at last, he had a lead on where the hell to start looking.

Kurt Waldheim scouted ahead, his orcish sword in front of him. These were the Chaos Wastes, and he knew that bands of beastmen or mutants could attack them at any time. Even worse, they could be swallowed up by the earth or struck down by bolts of incandescent lightning. Here, in the wastes, anything was possible. But being here meant that the authorities would never, ever, find him. It was good, although it meant he wouldn't get his fair share of ale, gambling and womanising anytime soon. However, this was a land of eternal adventure. Who knew what would happen next? He narrowed his eyes as they approached an area of vast tentacles writhing at the sky like giant worms. Weaving between the foul growths, the men and dwarf continued on their way.

The slayer grinned, holding his axe ready. What better place to find a glorious death than in the home of Chaos? The place ran rife with monsters and daemons. It was only a matter of time before the Red Wolves bumped into some.

Eventually, a dark shape appeared on the horizon. Merideon collapsed to his knees, issuing a grunt as his shins scraped the rock.

'What is it, Waldheim?'

It didn't look like enemies. He could see skeletal frames of wood, some half covered in bits of leathery canvas. Round, wooden wheels lay half-buried in the sand.

'It's an abandoned wagon train,' Kurt shouted from up ahead. 'We can scavenge for equipment and supplies.'

'Great,' Merideon sighed, stumbling to his feet. There was no dignity in this. Nevertheless, he mentally acknowledged that they could do with whatever they could get.

'Come, manling, get a move on,' Skurdi snapped. He strode purposefully past the noble. 'You're young and strong, you should have more energy in you, lad.'

'Shut it, dwarf,' Merideon snarled. They had walked hundreds of miles across the blasted wastes, with not a feature in sight and the slayer was striding along as if out for an evening stroll. Curse the endurance of the stunted folk, he mused.

Amidst the bones of men and beasts, rusting weapons and discarded shields, they found several undisturbed boxes and crates beneath a stiffened piece of canvas. Skurdi heaved it aside, and then set to with his axe. Before long he split them open to reveal much needed supplies of food, water and bandages. But half-hidden in the corner of one crate were three suspicious looking leather bags.

'What's this?' Merideon prodded one with his rapier. His legs felt like they were about to collapse beneath him, but the prospect of finding gunpowder was exciting. Sure enough, the bags were brimming with black powder and metal balls.

'By Sigmar's beard, we've struck gold!'

After another half hour dragging themselves across the sands, the four companions arrived beneath a number of tall, stone spires. Like rocky steps leading up to nothingness they towered into the sky. At the base of one, Merideon spotted a narrow opening.

'It's a cave! Follow me, men!'

Half running, half staggering, the noble unsheathed his rapier and pushed his way into the half-darkness. Dropping the weapon, he paused to light his lantern while the others squeezed in behind him.

A small but cosy space greeted them. It was slightly warm and protected from the elements. At last, they could rest and recover from their recent ordeal.

'Look, there's a crevice at the back of the cave,' Merideon pointed. 'We should check it out.'

A couple of days had passed and the comrades were just about ready to decide what the hell to do now. They were stuck in the Chaos Wastes with no immediate way to return to the Old World. Merideon had a point. The noble examined the crack in the rock. It was wide enough for a man to squeeze through. A curious image was carved into the rockface, depicting a man holding a book. Suddenly, a tingle of excitement ran through Merideon, and realization dawned in his eyes.

'This is it,' he breathed, running his hand over the engraving. 'The book…'

'What book?' Skurdi growled, hefting his axe and stepping closer to get a look at the depiction. 'What are you on about, manling?'

'To cut a long story short,' the noble snapped irritably, 'my homeland was taken over by a bastard necromancer. In exchange for wardenship, I must find a sorcerer's book and bring it to him.'

'And you think the corpse-worshipper will honour this deal?' The slayer scoffed. 'You are a fool as well as an upstart.'

'You would do well to watch your tongue, dwarf.'

'Or what, manling? You'll try to kill me? I've survived the attacks of ravening daemons and chaos beasts. I think it'll take a little more than human scum such as yourself to bring me down.'

'Enough!' Kurt shouted, surprising himself with his own authority. 'We go through the crevice and see what's beyond. It's either that,' he said before the slayer or the knight could protest, 'or go back out in the wastes. And if we do that, its only a matter of time before we run into an army.'

'Bring it on,' Skurdi snarled. 'A worthier death than falling by the hand of some slimy goblin beneath the mountains.'

'You'll have to excuse my enthusiasm,' Merideon sneered, 'but I think I'll take my chances in the caves.'

'I'm with Merideon,' Kurt said brusquely. 'Good luck finding your death.'

'I too will take the cave,' Morgan rumbled. He strode over to join the men.

'Bloody cowards you all are,' Skurdi jeered. 'Looks like I've no choice but to join you. Someone's got to make sure you find your damned book.'

They followed the crevice as it tapered off until it narrowed down to another opening, a small hole in the rock. The darkness was absolute. It looked like a pit, surrounded by clusters of semi-luminous fungi. The light from the lantern shone down several feet then vanished.

'Looks pretty deep,' Merideon commented absently. He knocked a stone down, listening. After what seemed an age, he heard its distinctive crack as it hit the ground. 'Waldheim, hand me your rope and grappling hook.'

The noble fastened the metal hook onto a section of the cave wall, before winding the rope around some stalagmites stretching up like teeth from the floor. Then he hurled the rope down the pit and waited for it to fully uncoil.

'Are you sure this is the right way?' Kurt looked around hesitantly.

'Do you see anywhere else to go?' The noble rolled his eyes. 'I'll go first.'

He fastened the lantern to his belt then started down, hand over hand. The others looked on, warily. As he descended, his light illuminated the pit. It was circular, and strange growths clung to the slimy walls. Merideon could see tiny creatures with many legs scurrying away from the light into small cracks and holes in the rockface. Finally, his feet touched the ground and he tugged the rope, making sure it was secure.

'You coming?' Then he turned to take in his new surroundings.

The floor beneath his feet crunched with small rocks and the walls opened up into a larger cavern. Shelves of rock jutted out, some of them supporting hairy, spider-like plants. As Merideon watched, an insect of some sort wafted too close. Without warning, a tentacle whipped out from the plant and a tiny maw filled with needle-teeth snapped closed on the insect's soft body. Seconds later the tentacle withdrew into the plant, taking with it its new meal. Somewhere water dripped.

'Some wildlife,' Kurt mused as he let go of the rope and dropped to the floor. 'So where do we go from here?' This was getting exciting. This was what he called a real adventure. No need to worry about being pursued, venturing into the complete unknown. With nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

'I say we go that way,' Merideon pointed with his rapier. 'It looks like the cave opens out slightly. 'Wait here whilst I…'

'Of course not,' Kurt laughed. 'The others can catch up, its not like we're going far.'

'Suit yourself, Waldheim.' The two men's footsteps faded off into the dark.

Skurdi stepped down onto solid ground again, followed quickly by Magnus.

'Where'd they go?' The slayer frowned. 'Bloody manlings…'

There was a huge hole in the far wall. Without another thought, Kurt and Merideon strode through imperiously, as if they were the lords of this dark realm.

Suddenly there was an insectoid scuttling from the wide passage ahead. Kurt pulled out his pistols, making sure they were loaded. Staring intensely at the blackness, he strained his eyes, trying to make out the slightest movement.

Nothing. Not even a sound. The scuttling had stopped.

Relaxing, the outlaw looked sideways at his companion.

'Bats?'

A massive claw came scything out of nowhere and tore through Kurt's shoulder as a huge, monstrous form launched from the gloom beyond the light. He was thrown backwards, one of his guns going off and blowing a hole in the ceiling. Merideon rolled aside as the armoured monster's other claw clacked noisily above his head.

Skurdi's ears pricked up as he heard the sounds of battle issuing from ahead. Grimacing, he ran towards the tunnel entrance.

As soon as he saw it, his eyes reeled in terror. He knew of the strange pests known as scorpions, but this one was a giant. Its eyes shone with a pearly light, and the light glinted from its chitinous bulk. Most terrifying of all was the unfurled tail, tipped with a bulbous, poison sting. It seemed to pulsate with venom.

'Out of the way!' The slayer roared, shoving Merideon aside and throwing himself at the monster. Dodging a huge claw, he raised his runeaxe and brought it down, slamming its blade into the thing's head. The blade carved through chitin and there was an explosion of blood and brain matter as the giant scorpion's head caved in. 'Now that's how you deal with a pest problem.'

The tunnels branched out like a labyrinth. Strange noises echoed in the deep. Everywhere bugs and beasts scattered from the comrades as they approached.

The silence was deafening.

Disorientation came, along with terror of what might lurk around the next corner. Dread hung, almost tangibly in the air. The unsaid horror gnawed at their minds, that of the question that what if there was no other way out, and that their search was over before it had even begun. Merideon began to have doubts. What if it was a trap, created by some madman to lure unwary travellers to their doom? What if it had been pure coincidence that the engraving had looked like a book? Putting his doubts aside, he concentrated on what was important. It had not been coincidence. The carving had definitely been a man holding a book. And in the wake of the encounter with Kharon Baal, how could it possibly have been simply a coincidence? No, he knew he was on the right trail.

The tunnel they were following widened and the ceiling dipped. Merideon stopped, ordering his companions to halt. He stood on a precipice beyond which stretched a vast, black gulf. By the flickering light of his lantern, he could just make out the far side, a cliff face too far away to reach. Suddenly Skurdi collided with him, nearly toppling him into the abyss. A large stone fell silently from the edge. After about a minute there was the distant slap of stone breaking on stone.

'Watch out, stupid dwarf peasant!' He breathed a sigh of relief. 'One more step and you'd have thrown me into hell.'

'Hmmm…' Skurdi grunted. He eyed the chasm. 'There's no way across. We have to turn back.'

'No!' Merideon rounded on the slayer. 'It'll take an age to navigate another way through those damned tunnels. We go down.'

'But that's suicide!' Kurt gasped, looking into the darkness below. 'How far does it go down? It might not go anywhere.'

'What say you, knight?' Merideon raised an eyebrow.

Morgan grunted something unintelligible and sat down heavily, his back against the wall. He was clearly exhausted. Fellblade crashed to the ground.

'Very well,' Merideon sighed. 'We go down. There is no other way.'

'But…we left the hook…' Kurt's eyes widened.

'Wait…' the noble said softly. He knelt by the edge a little way along. Bolted to the rock, leading down into the terrifying void, was a rusting, iron chain.

'You have got to be kidding, lad,' Skurdi joked. There was an embarrassing silence. 'Eh? You're not really going to ask us to clamber down that chain?'

'What other choice do we have? You can stay behind if you wish, dwarf.'

The slayer growled angrily but stayed silent.

As the four companions descended into the abyss, trying desperately not to soil their britches in fear, there was a clinking sound as Kurt nearly lost his grip. He paused, breathing heavily, clinging to the chain as if he was drowning.

'Are you all right down there, Waldheim?' The voice of Merideon wafted down.

Kurt paused a moment before replying.

'I'm fine, just slipped a bit on this blasted chain, that's all.'

Then he lost his grip.

He gave a yell of fear before making a wild grab for the cliff face, his fingers brushing against smooth rock. Scrabbling madly, he felt himself falling, bashing against Skurdi as he passed him and continued falling.

'Sigmar's arse.'

The outlaw fell into the darkness.

'Kurt!!!!' Skurdi roared as he watched the man falling helplessly into the black gulf. Seconds later he disappeared, an expression of horror fixed on his face.

'What's going on down there?' Merideon snapped. 'Is Waldheim all right?'

Skurdi was silent. He stopped climbing and grasped the chain tightly.

'Skurdi? Where's Waldheim?' Merideon noticed that Kurt was no longer below him.

'He fell…into shadow.'

'No!' Merideon screamed, his eyes searching the wall below him, hoping to find the man clinging there. The walls were bare.

'We continue down,' Skurdi bellowed. 'No use wasting time here; best find out how dead the manling is and how far he fell.'

'Shut up, dwarf,' Merideon screeched acidly. 'Just get a move on, before I kick you off.'

'Like to see you try, manling,' Skurdi scowled back up at Merideon. 'You touch me with that filthy boot of yours and you'll be screaming the names of your elders.'

The darkness was absolute. No ray of light natural or otherwise illuminated the pitch-black space. The dank air stank of unwashed fur, of rotting flesh, and of animal dung. A dull rumbling echoed throughout the area, and slight vibrations rattled the rocky walls. Occasionally there was the stamp of hooves or a bleat as something horny was misplaced.

Kurt Waldheim opened his eyes a fraction. He was lying face down on a hard rock surface, his pack and gear spread out beside him. He couldn't see it, he just new it was there as his arm was lying over it. The sounds around him intensified. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck rose horribly. He got the distinct impression that he was about to die. Something, or rather, two somethings, were standing over his prone body. He didn't know what they were, or how big they were, as the gloom concealed everything. But somehow, he knew if he didn't move fast, he'd be dead. There was a whoosh in the air. Just before he was certain a weapon of some sort would've made contact, he rolled aside, crying out as his arm protested painfully. To confirm his suspicions, there came a metallic clang as something crashed into the rock where he had lain seconds before.

'Get away, you…bastards,' he gasped, dragging himself across the floor. Realizing his mistake, he felt himself bump into something huge and hairy that ended in a massive, bony lump. It was cloven, and rounded in shape.

'Oh…blood,' Kurt cursed. It was a gigantic hoof.

Suddenly there was a loud bellow and an orange-haired shaped fell from above. Like a descending comet it slammed into the Minotaur's back. There was a meaty crunch as the runeaxe bit home. Distracted, the beast turned to face its opponent.

'Nice going, slayer,' Kurt groaned, rolling away from the battling titans. But then the other Minotaur's eyes flashed in the semi-light and it snorted impatiently. 'Well that's just great, will you guys get down here!'

A clink of chain heralded the dashing noble as he leapt from its end and landed on the balls of his feet, rapier swishing nonchalantly.

'Never fear, Lord Merideon is here! It's time for you…'

His last words were drowned out by a feral roar and the thunder of hooves as the Minotaur rushed forwards. There was a heavier crunch as Magnus landed.

Swords clashed with an almighty ring of steel against the beast's axe. Kurt staggered to his feet to join in the fray. Circling around the beast, the three men acted as one and charged into the beast from three different directions.

'For glory!' Merideon flicked back the feather in his cap.

'For honour!' Morgan rumbled, raising his daemonblade.

'Die! Die you bitch!' Kurt screamed and hacked with all his strength.

Skurdi and the Minotaur rolled across the floor, a tangle of hair, horns, claws and teeth. Their axes lay forgotten as they tore and ripped at each other with animal ferocity. The beast was bleeding but so was the slayer. Skurdi latched his teeth onto the Minotaur's throat. In response the monster grabbed the slayer's Mohawk with one giant fist and tugged. Skurdi roared in pain but then launched his fist at his foe's jaw, producing an audible crack.

On the other side of the crevasse floor, the other Minotaur was having trouble. Three separate sword blades had sliced various wounds in the beast. But it was not going to go down without a fight. Giving a roar of defiance, it lashed at Kurt. The outlaw dodged but the Minotaur's hoof kicked out, tripping him. The axe flashed down like a thunderbolt but the man rolled aside, the blade's edge chopping through the edge of his coat. Taking opportunity, Merideon rushed in, plunging his rapier into the beast's spine. Fellblade also struck, slashing through one of the beast's legs. With another roar, the Minotaur fell, but smashed a fist into Merideon. The noble was thrown bodily across the room. Shedding his coat, Kurt hurled two of his daggers, one for each of the foebeast's eyes then he leapt atop the beast's corpse. Twirling his sword, he struck down between the shoulder blades, ending its life.

There was a massive tremor as the other beast smashed into the wall, trying to crush Skurdi. But at the last minute the slayer dodged out from beneath his foe. Rocks plummeted and he was forced to retreat a safe distance. As the beast turned, Skurdi seized up his throwing axe and hurled it with all his strength. The blade span end over end before imbedding itself in the Minotaur's chest. Spreading its arms wide, the creature gave one last bellow of rage before falling forwards, dead.

At the far back of the ravine, amidst a filthy mess of skins and bones, was a gaping hole. It led into the rock, and turned out to be another tunnel. After another hour of resting, the comrades set off again, ever watchful of the large cobwebs and fungoid growths cluttering the tunnels.

'A ruined shrine? In this god-forsaken place?' Merideon raised his eyebrow. They had come to another cavern burrowed out from the surrounding rock. A narrow shaft of light penetrated the ceiling high above, and illuminated a stone statue of a horseman galloping atop a square dais. From the edges of the cave emerged several armoured figures. They had horned helmets and every inch of them was covered in steel plate.

'Who dares desecrate the shrine of Khar?'

'I dare, actually,' Merideon said in his most elegant voice.

'Infuriating them doesn't help, manling,' Skurdi spat.

'Silence,' came the metallic voice of the warrior, gesturing with his axe. 'Are you here to worship, or…'

'To worship?' Kurt was indignant. 'Are you serious?'

'Does it look like I jest, mortal?' The warrior made a cutting motion. 'Kill them!'

With a roar, both sides rushed forwards.

Amidst the clash of steel and the battlecries, the groans as wounds were inflicted and the scraping as blades slid from armour plates, there was a loud blast and a cloud of black smoke filled the air. One of the warriors' heads exploded in a burst of blood and metal shards. Splinters of stone scattered the floor as Kurt rolled aside from a double-handed axe, the blade cleaving through a section of wall. A purple nova spread out from Merideon's ring and time seemed to slow down, giving the companions more chances to pierce the warriors' armour. When the glow faded, they stood still, armoured killing machines of death. The battle continued, and then Kurt pulled a leather pouch from his coat. Throwing the whitish powder into the air, it produced a thunderclap and a massive flash of white light. For a few seconds, everything was blank, and then the chaos ones were blinded temporarily. The Red Wolves fought on, desperately trying to penetrate the armour and bringing the warriors down one by one. But the guardians of the shrine were tough, and it was almost an hour before the combat was over.

It had been a fierce battle. All the companions were wounded. As they sat on the shrine floor, slouched against slabs of rock or on the bodies of the dead, each one reflected on how close it could've been. Every battle could possibly be their last. They had to remember that.

'Give me a hand with this,' Kurt snarled. He was pushing against the stone statue. It rocked slightly on the dais, giving the impression it was unstable.

'My awesome muscles will aid you, Waldheim,' the noble said, sauntering over.

'I'm a bit out of action at the moment,' came the voice of the slayer. 'I…I don't feel too well…took a bit of a knock there. But by Grimnir, those chaos warrior bastards are going to pay the next time we meet some.'

Kurt twisted his head to glance back at Skurdi. He was in pretty bad shape. A fresh cut on his brow was bleeding, and his left arm lay at his side. The hand looked damaged. Magnus had taken off parts of his armour and was binding his wounds, a potion bottle sitting near him.

'I'm sure we manly types, hah, can handle this,' Kurt scoffed.

For the next half hour the two men huffed and puffed as they heaved at the statue. Finally, the stone rider began to give way.

'Get off you bastard! Move!' Kurt was getting impatient.

'It's off, finally by Sigmar's beard,' Merideon sighed as the statue veered and crashed to the ground in an explosion of dust and rubble. His eyes went wide. In a dip where the statue had been was a wooden trap door, inlaid with the same depiction of a man holding a book.

'The symbol…' Kurt began.

'The book…the way to the book lies clear,' Merideon breathed.

8


	2. Chapter 2: Daemon Labyrinth

_Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

II

Daemon Labyrinth

The noble ran a hand through his sweaty hair. He crouched by the cool, stone floor of the passage, panting. He felt his forehead. It was clammy, covered in warm sweat. Something pulsated, deep within him, and it wasn't his heart.

'What's up, manling?' The slayer paused at the doorway, looking back at the human. 'Catch a fever?'

'Very funny, dwarf,' Merideon snapped. 'I shouldn't have…shouldn't have…never mind.'

'We move on then?' Skurdi raised an eyebrow.

'Yes, keep going.' Merideon handed the lantern to Kurt. 'I'll take the rear guard. I'm feeling a little…indisposed.'

'Very well, friend,' Kurt said brusquely. 'I assume it's the chaos energies. I knew it would only be a matter of time before we were affected.'

'I thought down here the winds of chaos would be lessened,' Morgan rumbled. 'But then again, these are the Chaos Wastes. Chaos is everywhere.'

Passing beneath a massive gateway, inscribed with glowing, twisting runes that hurt their eyes, the party entered a series of straight corridors. The dark-cloaked passages turned off in all directions, confusing the senses and drenched in chaos magic. The very air itself was tainted, and all present could feel the aura of terror emanating from this labyrinth.

Fool, Merideon told himself. They should've stopped and thought about what they were doing when they'd leapt into the sorcerer's book. Too late, they had been plunged into the Chaos Wastes with no way back. They had retrieved the Soulstone; taken it from Kharon Baal. Why had they not ended their quest there? Because there had been no other way out, the answer reverberated around his mind. Or had there? They could've gone back and checked every nook and crevice, every cave and tunnel…perhaps they could've found another way out. He could've seen Gabrielle again…

But he knew that he was now on the path to find Kharon's Book, the book that would see him reclaim his kingdom from the necromancer filth. If he hadn't come here, would he have ever found it? Troubled by dark thoughts and conflicting possibilities, Merideon stumbled as the party turned another corner and emerged into a large chamber. The thing inside him flared painfully, and his knees hit the ground. Suddenly there was a cry of alarm. It wasn't his voice.

'What…what are these things?' Kurt stammered, stepping backwards.

Gritting his teeth, Merideon raised his head to see two, purple-hued monsters slinking from the shadows. They had four arms each, which ended in huge, brutal claws and stood on hooves of chitin. Their chitinous, armour plates were insect-like, yet these daemons were unlike anything Merideon had ever seen. There was something distinctly alien, and completely evil about them. Their bulbous heads were dominated by slavering jaws filled with needle-like teeth and their eyes glowed with a malevolent yellow light.

'Whatever they are, they aren't about to ask us to tea,' Morgan snarled. He raised Fellblade, roared wordlessly and rushed into the attack.

'What…what are they?' Kurt pulled back but kept his eyes on the daemonic beasts. The creatures' tongues were darting in and out of their mouths, as if they were tasting the air for their prey.

'Outta the way, Waldheim,' Skurdi grunted, shoving Kurt aside. 'Let me at them!'

Turning away from the battle, Kurt felt a pang of agony course through him. Looking down, he noticed his orcish sword glowing with green energy where his hand gripped the hilt. He fell to his knees, pain flowing through his body.

Merideon screamed as sudden pain seized his left arm. Within moments a series of throbbing, violet veins rose up on his flesh, each pulsation sending new agonies rippling through him. He threw back his head and screamed again, his hat falling to the floor. Too busy with their own battles, the other men ignored him.

He collapsed, unconscious, the veins spreading towards his hand.

Blood spattered the walls as Fellblade carved through the genestealer's arm. A fountain of purple ichor sprayed Valour and Morgan lashed out again. The next blow took off the alien's head. But huge rents had been gashed in Valour. Morgan crumpled to the ground, exhausted. Blood leaked from the armour.

Skurdi was lightly wounded too. Dodging aside from a set of claws, he narrowly missed another and then a third arm grabbed a handful of his mohawk.

'Watch the hair, beast,' he roared, back slashing and cutting off the offending arm. His body was further tattooed in a gush of purple blood.

With the blood of the genestealers cooling around them, Skurdi and Morgan, breathing heavily, approached Merideon's prone body. Kurt knelt by the man.

'He's breathing, but only just,' the outlaw said. 'Look at that.' He indicated the pulsating purple veins. They were moving.

'What in hell?' Morgan gasped. His eyes followed the veins towards Merideon's hand. Slowly, the foul mutation was creeping to where the rapier was locked in a vice-like grip.

'This is bad,' Skurdi growled. 'We should not have come here.' He shook his head. 'Good for me – a glorious death and all, but not for you men. You will be lucky to get out the wastes alive.'

'There's no use pondering on what is passed,' the knight replied. 'We're stuck here, at least for the time being. I will accept whatever happens to me.'

'And here, is away from the authorities,' Kurt snapped. 'No one will find me here. I too, accept the inevitable.'

'You manlings are more foolish than you look,' the dwarf hissed. He turned away. 'Come, we've got to get the youngster someplace safe.'

The party cautiously made their way down a set of steps. They could hear the stamp of hooves and the jingle of chainmail from the corridor below. Quickly, they reached the door at the bottom and were about to go through when it burst open and a group of Bloodletters thundered towards them. They were howling for blood and gore, their dripping axes raised. The daemons' red skin glistened.

'Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the throne of Khorne!'

A brass axe swept into Magnus, throwing him against the wall. Luckily, he scrambled aside as the blade struck again with lightning swiftness, taking a chunk out of the wall. Skurdi rolled beneath another's swing, striking out with his runeaxe. One of the daemons fell, its leg severed. Daemonic ichor was spraying everywhere. In the closeness of the corridor the tightly packed daemons and men fought bloodily. There was barely enough room to swing and blood both red and black stained the flagstones. The clamour of weapons was deafening. Kurt's blade rang as he parried a bloodletter's blow, but then the axe sliced through his armour and he cried out in agony. Fellblade hacked and slashed in all directions. Ichor painted the low ceiling and the other men fought to get out of Magnus' sword arc lest they too fall to its deadly thirst. At the top of the stairs, leaning on his rapier, Merideon watched the battle with weary eyes. His ears pounded with the racket, and he struggled to keep himself from falling. The pain had dulled, but he was still in agony. The mutation was getting worse. He glanced at it, flinching as his gaze alighted on the veins slowly merging his weapon to his flesh. They were melting, steel and skin melding together like some horrid candle wax streaked through with metal shards.

Finally, blood dripping from their bodies, they defeated the last Bloodletter in a shower of reddish sparks. The air was heavy with the tang of magic. The companions were badly wounded. All of them were bleeding heavily. Kurt's left arm hung uselessly. Skurdi's leg was gashed horribly and Magnus sported several large, bleeding rents in his armour.

But there was no time for resting.

Suddenly, there was a crash from the top of the staircase, followed by a scream.

'Merideon!' Kurt shouted hoarsely.

'Get down, around the corner! Run!'

The duellist came limping down the stairs as fast he could, gesturing wildly.

'Run, you stupid oafs, do it! Run!'

For a moment the others just stood there, wondering what the noble was on about. Then a series of booming crashes echoed from up the staircase. Coming into view was a giant boulder. It started to roll down the stairs, towards them.

That galvanised them into action. Hastily scrambling down the corridor and around a nearby corner the party barely made it in time before the boulder rolled past them to smash a hole in the wall and vanish into the blackness.

The four companions fell to the ground, completely spent.

'Next time a little warning would be good,' Skurdi spat.

This earned him a venomous glance from the duellist.

The stench was terrible. It stank like a mix of rotting flesh, rotting vegetables and offal, combined with various types of dung and vomit. Kurt gagged and covered his mouth and nose while Magnus slammed down his visor. Skurdi simply wrinkled his nose in disgust. Merideon, however, looked positively sick. He was pale, and looked like a corpse.

'Merideon,' Kurt said, 'if you're going to vomit, please don't do it on me.' He moved away from the noble.

Then the Plaguebearers arrived.

Like sagging sacks of diseased flesh, riddled with crawling maggots, they pointed their jagged, rusted blades and attacked. Clouds of flies hovered about them, and small, nurgling daemons scuttled around their feet.

Bandaged and not ready for another fight, the comrades were ill prepared. Kurt desperately tried to defend himself as a plaguesword connected with his side. Immediately there was a flash of greenish light and a foul stench as some vile disease began to take over the outlaw's body.

'No!' Kurt wailed, gripping the amber amulet he wore. There was another flash, of amber light this time, and the infection was dissipated. Taking advantage, he swung his sword at arms length and decapitated the Plaguebearer, skipping back as it collapsed in a pile of slime and filth.

The corridor looked perfectly normal, and safe. It was well lit by a number of torches set in wall sockets and a large, wooden doorway stood at the end.

'Well, what are we waiting for?' Kurt shifted his arm sling and shouldered his sword. Striding confidently towards the door, he could feel the others' eyes on him as he walked. The air was warm. It was silent except the sound of his boots on the flagstones. Suddenly he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and seconds later a giant blade rose from the ground. With a metallic ring, it sliced upwards where he was standing, cutting through his coat and severing his left foot. With a scream he tumbled forwards, blood spurting from the limb.

The others watched in horror as the outlaw scrambled clear and the blade slid back into the ground, slick with blood. Kurt shrieked in agony, blood pumping into a pool around him. To his credit, he struggled around and reached forwards, trying to grab the wound and tighten it to stop the blood flow. But he was in so much pain.

'I'm coming, manling!' Skurdi set his jaw, and ran. Strangely, his leg had set and he rushed along surprisingly quickly. When he got to the gap where the blade had risen, he launched himself into a flying leap, clearing the trigger stone and landing near Kurt's fallen pack.

As the slayer busied himself making a tourniquet the knight and the noble started forwards, readying themselves to make the jump. Merideon was shaking. Just before the trap, Magnus unslung one of his shields and flung it across. With a clang it hit the flagstone and immediately the blade rose up. As soon as it descended, Magnus rolled across the gap. Getting to his feet, he glanced back at Merideon.

'Come on lad, you can do it.'

'I can't do it,' Merideon replied. 'I…I'm too weak.'

'Damn it man, you can! Get your arse over here!'

'It's your book we're going after, manling,' Skurdi snarled.

Closing his eyes, Merideon considered. It was the only way. He had to cross. Breathing calmly, he relaxed and raised his foot.

Merideon's boot came down onto the flagstone. Time seemed to slow down. As the blade rose up, he quickly skipped over it and onto the other side. When he was safe, the blade slammed upwards, spattering blood into the air before retracting again. Merideon sighed in relief and tapped his purple ring.

'Oh, forgot you had that damned thing,' Morgan said, somewhat awkwardly.

'Well done, manling,' Skurdi nodded.

The next corridor was not so friendly. A set of mechanical pendulums swung back and forth, blocking the way. Sparks flew as the blades hit the opposite wall, before swinging back again with a metallic creaking accompanied by the whoosh of air as the huge devices cut through it.

'Oh no,' Kurt sighed. 'I'll never get through this.' He was being supported by Magnus.

'Wait, I may be able to help,' Merideon breathed. He crouched by Kurt's stump and closed his eyes.

The air grew dark and the braziers on the wall flickered and went out. Strange whisperings and ethereal shapes shifted all around them. There was power in the air, and all could feel it rushing right through them.

'What the,' Magnus began before Merideon hushed him. Before they realized what was happening there was a slight burst of magical energy somewhere on the ground and then everything was as it was before, as if nothing had happened. Skurdi looked around. The braziers were burning, and the light had returned.

Then his gaze fell to Kurt's severed foot.

The limb was no longer severed. Instead, the outlaw's leg resembled a bird's claw, from the knee down.

'What…' Kurt stammered.

'It's better than not being able to walk,' Merideon said coolly. He rose to his feet. He still looked corpse-like, but a little more energetic. It was if the power of chaos had given him strength.

'Well, let's get going,' Skurdi said, trying to ignore the fact that he was now travelling with mutants. Inwardly, he cursed. The humans were doomed. Raising his axe, he examined the scaffolding the pendulum blades were swinging from. 'Hmmm…. let's see how much damage this thing can take.'

With one blow, the runeaxe cleaved through the woodwork, bringing the pendulum crashing to the ground with an ear-wrenching screech.

'You seem to know what you're doing,' Morgan rumbled.

'More or less.'

On the opposite side of a fiery chasm stood a creature of pure terror. Rearing on two massive legs, its four arms equipped with a variety of ripping claws and slashing blades, the monster was like nothing they'd ever seen before. Its eyes gleamed with intelligence, and its heavy hooves sent tremors around the chamber. Suddenly its fanged maw opened wide and a scream like that of a dying pig filled the air. Skurdi realised it was a challenge, an offer to fight it in battle.

'Oh yes,' he roared, raising his axe in triumph. 'Now this, will be a fight worth dying for.'

Ignoring the slayer, Morgan drew Fellblade and rushed across the rickety bridge.

'Wait! He's mine!' Skurdi protested before charging after the knight. Merideon and Kurt fanned out to stand either side of the bridge. Flickers of chaotic energies jolted up from the gorge below and a light wind seemed to ruffle their hair.

Fellblade swept through the air, cutting a deep wound between the monster's chitinous armour plates. Blood slopped down, dribbling like food from a baby's mouth. A huge bonesword slashed down and Fellblade rose to parry. There was a burst of sparks as the daemon weapon was thrown to clatter on the floor. A giant claw grabbed the knight up roughly and promptly threw him against the wall. Magnus hit his head with a sickening crunch and slid to the ground, unconscious. The runes on Skurdi's axe burned bright as the slayer took advantage of the diversion. As the Tyranid warrior turned its hellish gaze on its other antagonist Skurdi struck. With an explosion of blood and gore, one of the beast's legs was chopped from beneath it. Screaming in anguish, the creature fell, its arms waving frantically. Boneswords and claws came scything down in Skurdi's direction. One of the claws smashed into him, and he felt ribs break beneath the impact. Ignoring the injury, he leapt up and dodged another wild swing. Getting to his feet directly next to the Tyranid's body, he cleaved upwards, aiming for a section of armour. The axe bit deep, and a torrent of blood spewed out. Rolling to one side the slayer repeated the action on the creature's other flank, damaging it greatly and staying out of the boneswords' arc. Craning its neck inwards to try and see the small figure rushing about beneath its bulk, the Tyranid roared in anger. Skurdi replied with a blow to its other leg, hewing it off with a spray of gore. With the beast disabled, he came around behind it and leapt onto its armour-plated back. Systematically, he struck and severed each limb, while the monster struggled to throw him off. Then, just as he neared the head for the final blow, he slipped.

'Grimnir give me strength,' he roared, his axe crashing through the beast's neck. It held, and a jet of blood fountained skywards, leaving Skurdi dangling from the axe handle. With one last shrug, dislodging the victorious slayer, the Tyranid screamed and died in a heap of stinking chitin. Its falling body smashed into the cavern wall. There was a deep rumble, and several boulders were dislodged from the ceiling. Skurdi grunted and took cover as they plummeted into the floor.

When the dust cleared, a hole in the wall revealed a staircase, leading upwards.

'I see you cleared the way for us, master dwarf,' came the sneer of Merideon.

'Feeling better already, manling?'

'More than you know, dwarf,' Merideon said slyly. His eyes glinted.

As the companions picked their way through the rubble and chitin plates, there came a sudden howl. It was a bestial sound, a terrible roar that penetrated their souls. The energies flickering from the gorge became brighter, and more frequent, and the wind of chaos buffeted them, threatening to suck them down into the void.

'We must reach the stairs!' Merideon shouted above the wailing. 'Get to the stairs!' Skurdi was closest, and quickly limped into the hole where it was sheltered. Kurt, walking slightly awkwardly with his bird leg, ducked beneath a piece of shell and spotted Magnus' body.

'What about Magnus?'

'Get to the stairs! Let me worry about that!'

As Kurt approached the hole, a bluish burst of energy passed right through him. He stopped abruptly, stunned for a moment, before continuing on. It was then that he noticed that his arm was healed. Shedding the sling, he flexed it. His eyes grew wider as he realised the fingers were different.

They had claws.

'Magnus! Get up, you fool!' Merideon grasped the knight's shoulder and shook him violently. 'Magnus!' More energy danced around them. Merideon could feel its taint; feel the corruption spreading. He glanced at his mutation. His rapier and left arm were one. Where the arm ended and the blade began was hard to tell. Then he looked at his right hand. His ring of invisibility was flickering, as if it were a candle about to go out. Then more pain gripped him. He threw back his head and screamed. Agony burst through his hand and he could feel the ring melding with his flesh. Strange energy lanced through his veins and his body flickered in and out of existence, changing his appearance from normal to translucent and back again.

Magnus came to and immediately felt something wrong with his face. It was his mouth. There was something different. Removing his gauntlet, he put his hand up to feel his teeth. Horror flared when he felt them. His canines had elongated.

He had grown fangs.

Looking around, he saw Kurt flourishing a set of claws. In front of him Merideon seemed to be flickering, as if he was only partially there. One of his arms was a huge, silver blade. And all around were strange bursts of light, sparks and rays of frolicking colour, daemons and spirits cavorting and playing with his mind.

'What…'

Then he realised the horrible, inevitable truth.

'We're turning into mutants.'

7


	3. Chapter 3: Desolation

C3 DESOLATION

_Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

III

Desolation

With a sharp crack like stone on stone, the marauder chief slammed the back of his fist against the man's face. His jaw broke and two teeth fell from his mouth with a spatter of blood. As his hands were bound behind his back, he couldn't stop himself stumbling to fall face first into the dust. The captive groaned.

Three months ago, Patricius Von Kaiser, thug and exile from the Knights Panther, had ventured into the darkened depths of the Forest of Shadows with his band of outlaws. With their leader dead, assassinated by a ruthless bounty hunter, they were on the run. Patricius, taking command, knew that the authorities would think twice about pursuing them into this forest. The Forest of Shadows was infamous for its roving beastmen, mutants and other horrors.

After several battles that resulted in over half of their number being slain, the outlaws had discovered something in the woodland's dark heart. It was huge, and pulsated like a living organ. Fascinated, and drawn by the chaotic energies, the men had stepped inside. Immediately, they had regretted it. Nightmarish visions and flashing lights tortured their minds and then, after what seemed like an eternity of agony, they had emerged.

The next thing they knew they were standing on a vast, windswept plain that could only be one place in the world: the Chaos Wastes.

Patricius' mind was brought back to reality as the chief grabbed him roughly and dragged him back to his feet.

'Up, Empire man,' he grunted in crude, barely understandable Reikspiel. 'We got more pain for you.' There was a murmur of laughter from the surrounding Kurgan warriors. Staring at them with half closed eyes, Patricius vowed one day he would see every one of them butchered.

One of the Kurgan strode forwards, a cruel smile on his ugly features. Patricius' head snapped back as a brutal uppercut smashed into his chin. He lost his footing and fell backwards to the jeering of the crowd. The warrior responsible raised his fist, looking around like a victorious gladiator in the illegal fighting arenas.

'One day…one day you'll pay for this…' Patricius tried to say, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

'What you say, cur?' The chief growled. An armoured boot cracked into Patricius' ribs. He winced in pain. 'You want more?' He kicked his helpless captive again.

'Finish the dog,' another warrior roared.

'Kill the Empire scum!'

'Slit his throat and feed him to the carrion birds!'

Against the blue sky Patricius could see the silhouette of the chief looming over him, axe drawn. The weapon rose to the cheers of the onlooking warriors.

Suddenly there was a mighty blast and something small smashed into the chief's throat. The Kurgan fell, dropping his axe. As his lifeless corpse crumbled to the earth, a strange figure stepped into Patricius' limited field of vision. He was tall, golden haired and clad in clothes that were ragged but looked like they might have once been expensive and fancy. A feathered hat perched on the man's head.

'Silence, you curs,' the newcomer spat in a snobbish voice. He was holding a smoking flintlock. He raised his left arm, a strange limb that ended in a shiny, metal blade. 'Prepare to meet your gods.'

As Patricius watched, the stranger rushed towards the Kurgan, followed by two other men and a squat figure crowned with a massive, orange Mohawk. A slayer? Listening to the sounds of clashing steel, the thug closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he was going to escape from this hell after all.

'So, who are you people?'

Patricius was walking behind the other men. They were trekking across the blasted wastes, the winds howling all around them like a chorus of lost souls. Above the skies were changing colours, from blue to purple to red with flecks of orange. A heavy chain was attached to his neck via a leather collar. The huge, hulking figure in full plate armour grasped the other end. He was silent.

'Hey, I was talking to you, brute!'

'Watch your tongue, cur,' the knight spat, turning to face Patricius. His face was barely visible beneath the shadowed helmet, and a large, double handed sword that gleamed with otherworldly light was hefted over his shoulder.

The noble-looking man stopped walking and inclined his head towards the thug.

'I suppose we should get introductions out of the way,' he sneered. 'I am Lord Merideon, master of the Red Wolves. This is Magnus,' he indicated the knight with his blade arm, 'Kurt Waldheim, and Skurdi.'

There was an almost tangible silence.

'I am Patricius Von Kaiser,' Patricius said pompously. 'I…'

'Am a fool,' Merideon hissed. 'And the only reason we let you live is because you could be of use to us.'

A grim smile came across Magnus' face.

'What is your business here?' Patricius was determined to get some answers.

'That is not your concern,' the noble said brusquely. He turned and walked off.

'But…' Patricius gave a cry as the chain was tugged brutally and he was forced to follow the armoured warrior.

As the skies began to darken, changing from red to purple again and then to deep blue, speckled with stars, the captive began to wonder if he would be better off dead. He had simply exchanged one bunch of ruffians for another. The Red Wolves barely talked amongst themselves. They just kept trudging across the plains, eyes scanning the horizon for signs of danger.

Then something happened to relieve the tedium.

Merideon stopped short, and the party ground to a halt. The noble turned to face his companions, and his eyes were closed. Suddenly, his head lolled to one side and he began to drool. High above, a blaze of light illuminated the heavens as a scarlet comet passed overhead.

'Merideon,' Magnus grunted. 'Merideon, what is wrong with you? Speak!'

Merideon's head jerked up and his eyes flashed crimson. The air turned hostile.

'An interesting body…' he said slowly, his gaze flickering over himself. He raised his head to the skies, watching as the comet faded into the distance. Then he seemed to sniff the air, as if catching the scent of enemies. 'This way,' he motioned with his blade arm, 'battle lies ahead. It is time for battle!'

A group of snickering, red-skinned daemons gathered up ahead. They were like goblins, and carried short, brutal-headed spears. Merideon recognised them as Fallen Ones. Narrowing his eyes, he charged into their midst, slashing left and right with his rapier. Two daemon heads flew through the air. Before the others could react Magnus' daemonic blade sliced through one's torso and the duellist's pistol ball exploded the other's head in a burst of gore. It was all over so quickly.

Not truly realising what he was doing, Merideon crouched by a corpse and began to lick the dead, his tongue caressing the severed neck and lapping up the daemonic ichor like a thirsty wolf drinking after a successful hunt. After a moment, he paused, confused, and his eyes flashed different colours. Magnus watched. Merideon…was changing.

They set off once again across the wastes, looking for clues as to where to head next. Merideon was their guide, leading the way, seemingly knowing the path that would take them through the Seas of Desolation. The horizon flickered and danced, stars twinkling and vanished in a display of bizarre colour.

'The colours…they moved.' Merideon drawled. 'Did you see them?'

Magnus rolled his eyes. This was going to take a bit of getting used to.

Looming on the horizon, like a god of war, was a massive beast, crowned with curling horns. He was a black-skinned titan, and his cleaver dripped with a constant flow of fresh blood.

'You challenge Gore Fist?' He growled as the Red Wolves approached. Merideon blinked slowly.

'He's mine alone,' the duellist whispered to Kurt and Skurdi. 'I do, beast. Now let us see who the war god favours!'

With a bestial roar, both combatants charged into battle.

Merideon dodged the first swing of the cleaver, ducking beneath its deadly arc. He lunged with his rapier, puncturing the ogre's thigh. As Gore Fist raised his head and howled in pain, the expert duellist withdrew his weapon and backhanded it across his foe's throat. Blood spilled forth to spatter Merideon, slopping over his head and body. Invigorated by the life essences, he licked his lips and gave vent to a cry of rage. Dancing forwards, he hacked and cleaved in wild fury, avoiding the ogre's clumsy strikes and causing gash after gash to open in the beast's back and sides.

Magnus motioned to the slayer.

'The stone slab, it wants moving.' Grunting, Skurdi agreed and made to push. Kurt also sheathed his sword and crouched to help. The knight shoved Patricius roughly with his free hand.

'On your knees, dog,' he snarled, fangs protruding from his mouth. 'You will aid us.' Patricius made to protest, but one look from the mutant knight halted his tongue. Quickly, he turned around.

'My bonds…'

Magnus grunted and lifted the daemonblade's point. With one tug, the ropes were cut and then he kicked the man in the back, sending him to the ground.

'Push, fool.'

Hastily, Patricius scrambled to the slab and started heaving against it. Beside him, Magnus knelt and added his strength. Slowly, the slab began to move.

Dribbling blood from his throat wound, Gore Fist finally succumbed and fell forwards, his face smashing into the blood-drenched plain. Standing over him, mouth red and smeared with blood, Merideon sneered and raised his rapier.

'Blood for the Blood God! Praise mighty Khorne!' Dipping his hand in the ogre's blood, he started spreading the bloody filth over his face and body.

'Merideon,' Magnus shouted. 'Get over here!'

Looking up from his grisly task, the duellist smiled, his teeth and eyes standing out from the mess of crimson that was his face. Before long the stone slab was shoved aside, revealing a wooden trap door fitted with a dark, iron ring. With one motion, Magnus hurled it open and stood back to let Merideon enter, lantern in hand.

The tunnel was dark and stank of blood, death and excrement. A foul reek of ogre assailed Merideon's nostrils. The dim lantern light illuminated a small, rough cave. It was occupied by an ogre, the beast's eyes glinting dangerously.

'What of Gore Fist?' The beast said slowly, in the dark tongue. Understanding the speech, Merideon gestured with his bloody blade. Twisting his mouth to speak the same language, he stared up at the ogre.

'Dead. As you will be, should you not bow down before me.' There was a deadly look, partially cunning, partially insane, in his eyes. The two figures faced off, motionless, the ogre's axe gripped loosely in its hands. Strangely, the ogre wore the uniform of an Ostland soldier, perhaps the last vestiges of his previous career in the employ of the Empire.

Neither spoke and to an onlooker it would have been obvious that a serious clash of wills was taking place.

The tension-filled silence was suddenly broken by a crash as Patricius came tumbling down the tunnel, thrown bodily by Magnus. As if this was the signal, the ogre lowered its weapon and knelt, like a warrior before a king, offering his loyalty.

'Curl Horn will serve,' he said in the dark tongue.

'What does he say?' Magnus asked from the tunnel entrance. Merideon didn't turn around.

'He says I am his new master,' Merideon hissed. 'As is fitting for a beast.'

'This is good,' Magnus chuckled. 'We could do with the beast's strength.' He gave Patricius a savage kick. Patricius groaned. He realised he was doomed.

The party continued on, the ogre leading the way now. The skies had turned rust red, burning with orange fire at the edges. It was a chaotic dawn.

'Can we trust it?' Magnus asked Merideon. 'It is a creature of Chaos.'

'Are not we all?' Merideon laughed, like a madman.

Soon the thunder of hooves echoed across the plains. Several equine shapes materialized on the horizon, but these were not simply horses. They waved axes and wore horned helmets, in the way of Kurgan Marauders.

'The centaurs, they come,' Curl Horn grunted.

'What does the beast say?' Magnus looked towards the approaching horsemen.

'He says he must prepare for battle!' Merideon breathed, his eyes lighting up. 'The horse-men, they come!'

Issuing cries in their native language, the centaurs descended on the Red Wolves. Circling the companions, they clashed their axes on their shields before charging into combat, hooves kicking up the dust.

Fellblade lashed out, slicing through a centaur's torso. Parts, man and beast, fell to the ground with a clang of metal and leather. A fountain of blood spurted, showering the knight. His open helmet was drenched and some of the blood splashed his face. Coughing and gagging on the stinking mess, Magnus fell to his knees, infected by the tainted essences.

Another centaur played with Skurdi and Kurt, galloping around them, just out of reach. Taunting the slayer with all manner of insults the dwarf couldn't understand, he waved his axe in a warlike fashion, leaping right over the dwarf's head in a flurry of hooves and dirt.

The third centaur hacked out at Merideon, catching the duellist on the shoulder. The axe bit deep, but caught in the wound. Dragged forwards, the beast fell prey to the rapier arm as it punched through his side to erupt out of his neck.

'You cannot best me, I am favoured!'

Patricius, clutching his chain, cowered and quivered in fear behind a section of broken column. The monstrous, horse beasts were horrible! What dark powers could possibly warp the features of man and horse to become as one? Horses were servants to man. But here, in the wastes, things were different. He ducked, screaming, as a throwing axe flew by his head to take a chunk out of the column.

Leaping atop the centaur's back, Merideon smiled as it tried to buck and throw him off. Stabbing brutally through the shoulder blades, he rode the beast down as it thrashed and died.

'Now we shall see where Curl Horn's loyalty lies,' Merideon snapped. He stood on a ridge, overlooking a dip in the plain. Below, the ogre was rushing towards a huge, mutated troll. Spines projected from the thing's back, and it looked like some sort of giant, scaled porcupine. As the others caught up, the noble chuckled and pointed.

'Look, see, they fight!'

Curl Horn's axe blade clanged from the troll's heavy, stone axehead.

As the two beasts fought it out, and the comrades looked on, fascination written across Merideon's features, Patricius edged away, looking for a chance to escape. His hands were no longer bound, but he was weary and wounded. Would they bother pursuing him if he fled? His gaze flickered back the way they had come. Somewhere that way led south. South meant freedom…

Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted as an armoured fist rocketed into the back of his head. He was thrown forwards, falling to his knees, stars erupting in his vision and pain flaring madly.

'Painful, isn't it?' Came the familiar voice of Magnus. 'If you were thinking about running, forget it. You wouldn't have lasted an hour.'

'Oh yeah?' Patricius snarled, turned about and glaring up at the hulking knight. 'I think I've got some fight in me yet.'

'Really?' Magnus guffawed. 'Let's see then. Bring it on.' With a deft motion, he unsheathed the Blade of Leaping Gold and threw it at Patricius' feet. The magical sword glinted in the unnatural light. For a moment Patricius stared. Was Magnus mad? This was surely a fine weapon, forged by the elves or dwarfs and a powerful artefact. Then it hit him. He could use it to escape. He smiled, evilly.

'You shouldn't have done that, oafish scum.' Dragging himself to his feet, he picked up the blade. It was light, and felt good in his hand. Stepping back, he made a few practice cuts in the air. He even began to feel more confident.

'You know, you're going to regret throwing away this sword,' he sneered.

'Don't get cocky. Now, en garde!'

Using what strength he could muster, he limped towards the knight. Lashing out with a horizontal strike to the chest, he found his blade parried by the daemonic blade. Instantly he realised why Magnus had forsaken this gold sword. Sparks leapt from the impact and hellish visions attacked his mind that stopped as soon as the blades parted. With impossible speed, Magnus retaliated and struck low. Fellblade cut an inch into Patricius' leg. The knight laughed, deliberately holding back. Patricius screamed as the daemon blade fed on his blood, sapping his strength. Time seemed to slow down as Fellblade was withdrawn and Patricius screamed and screamed again with agony. It was as if the blade had thousands of tiny teeth, and they sawed and chewed his flesh as the blade was removed. He felt the daemonic hunger of the thing. It wanted to feed on him. Then everything reverted to normal and his body fell in a heap, the Blade of Leaping Gold hitting the ground with a clang.

As Patricius lay there, screaming, Magnus turned his attention to his former sword. It's attraction gone in his eyes; it no longer glowed, but instead had a dull sheen. Raising Fellblade, he gritted his teeth.

'It was good knowing you. But now you've served your purpose.'

Fellblade descended like an executioner's axe and shattered the gold blade into a thousand shards.

'Khorne is with me today!' Merideon roared, raising his bloody rapier to the skies. Standing over the body of the troll, its severed head hanging from his fist, dripping with blood, he addressed his comrades. 'Now we enter the lands of Lord Garroth. And we shall take his head! For the Blood God!'

Flinging the grisly trophy from him, its spinning mass trailing bloody droplets, Merideon ran down the hill and onto a wide floodplain. Huge standing stones and monoliths rose around him, decorated with the bodies of the dead, painted with bloody symbols and bedecked with rusting chains. Mounds of skulls littered the earth, and pillars topped with burning braziers lit up the daemonic skies.

As the other Red Wolves struggled to keep up with the crazed duellist, a ghostly howl echoed on the winds. Only Patricius heard it. His mind broken by the daemon blade, he continued his screaming out loud in his fanatical terror for he knew what it was that followed them. The Kurgan tribe that had captured him had bred these things.

They were akin to the Hounds of Hell.

Lord Garroth sat on his throne of brass and skulls. Sitting atop a stepped dais spattered with the blood of all those who dared to challenge him; he narrowed his eyes, spotting the intruders. He gestured with his axe, a double-handed affair that had been a reward from the war god and that been infused with daemonic power.

'Kill them, and claim their skulls for Khorne!'

Striding into his field of vision were his allies, three Bloodletters. Their red skin shone with blood, their twisted horns were black as midnight and their hellblades hungered for death. Their very presence unnerved Garroth; they were servants of the God himself. White hellfire was their eyes, and he bravely met their gaze.

'Your wishes meet our own purpose,' one of the daemons spoke, in a voice that reverberated with infernal glory. 'We will kill them for the Lord of Skulls!'

With a bestial cry that left Garroth's head ringing, the Horned Ones galloped towards the Red Wolves upon their hooves of brass.

'Protect me,' the Chaos Champion instructed his Kurgan Karnagh warriors.

'As you wish.' The muscled fighters hefted their great axes.

As the Teeth of Death thundered towards him, Merideon took aim with his long rifle. Spying the chaos warlord in his sights, he pulled the trigger and grinned savagely when he saw Garroth stagger back a step, the ball punching into his chaos armour.

'It'll take more than that to bring me down, coward!' Garroth roared.

Next Merideon held up his Doomfire Ring and activated it. Another hundred paces or so and the Bloodletters would be in contact. The ball of superheated flame shot forth towards Garroth. Stupidly, he decided not to dodge the oncoming missile and it burned him, eating through his armour. Gritting his teeth, he cursed these intruders for using cowardly means. They were no warriors!

Then the Horned Ones smashed into Merideon.

A Hellblade made contact with the duellist, slicing through his armour. Merideon flickered and became partially invisible as the second hellblade carved a path through the air towards his head. Confused, the daemon roared in rage and hacked and slashed the air, trying to hit him.

Curl Horn met the charge of the third Bloodletter, taking the hellblade in the gut. Ignoring the wound, he hacked downwards with his axe. Although a daemonic creature, the Bloodletter couldn't withstand the blow and exploded in a shower of daemonic ichor, its bestial shriek fading on the wind.

Magnus saw the hounds coming up behind them and, picking up Patricius, hurled him to hit the ground a few feet away.

'Skurdi, Kurt, guard Patricius!'

As the warhounds raced towards the knight, the outlaw and the slayer, if unwillingly, dragged the screaming man into the shadow of a massive, stone monolith adorned with a gaping, fanged mouth.

Fellblade lashed out, separating a dog's head from its body. The next stroke tore another in half; the third sliced another beast from head to tail. Snarling, the pack circled warily, looking for a weakness. They were bigger than normal hounds, with jutting fangs and protruding claws. A couple of them sported scorpion tails and other mutations. Fellblade slashed left and right, keeping the dogs at bay.

Merideon's rapier arm suddenly erupted from a Bloodletter's throat, spraying the air with daemonic blood. As the Horned One was banished back to the realm of chaos, the duellist cartwheeled madly towards the remaining daemon. The beast roared and struck out, its blade hacking into Merideon's body. Blood spattered the earth; but the rapier arm impaled the daemon in a sudden, upper thrust. Howling in rage, the last Horned One vanished in a cloud of golden sparks.

Exalted in his victory over the chaos daemons, Merideon shrieked at Garroth.

'Join me, Khorne favours me!'

As the chaos warhounds ganged up and swamped Magnus, surging forwards and enveloping him in a wave of fangs and claws, Patricius screamed and soiled his britches. They were all going to die. He was doomed; he had no chance of returning to the Empire. He was doomed. He was doomed. A rock by his hand started sprouting tentacles. The skies turned dark and giant eyes appeared there, staring down with mockery at him. The heavens were filled with evil laughter. Black winged monsters soared down towards him, their claws outstretched and dripping with blood. Huge monsters rose up in front of him, spewing pus and vomit and maggots. Warriors in infernal armour hacked at his body, spilling his blood. Daemons caressed him with claws, snipping off his manhood and laughing softly. Pushing himself backwards across the ground, he scrabbled away until his back slammed into the monolith. What was real, what wasn't? He screamed in terror.

Merideon raised his head and chanted a dire incantation. Seconds later, an insanely laughing, burning head shot towards the Kurgan Karnaghs guarding the dais. Setting the man alight, it consumed him in an instant. Horrified at the flaming corpse, the others turned tail to flee, despite Garroth's shouted commands. Curl Horn strode forth, cutting one down as he fled, his axe splitting the man's skull like a melon. Laughing evilly, Merideon triggered his invisibility and faded away.

Patricius, screaming constantly, didn't notice the fanged maw of the monolith. Without warning, a massive tongue tipped with a smaller set of fanged jaws lashed out from the maw and snatched him up. Seconds later, he was pulled back inside the monolith and the maw closed with a snap. His bloodcurdling screams were muffled and then all was silent.

With the hounds in retreat, and a dozen or so of their corpses surrounding him, Magnus rushed to engage Garroth now that his warband was gone.

'Time to end this farce,' he roared. 'Ogre, throw me up!'

Seized up in Curl Horn's strong embrace, Magnus gripped Fellblade tightly. Then he was flying up the steps and through the air. With a crash of armour, he plummeted into a shocked Garroth, knocking the chaos champion to the ground. But before he could stand, there was a burst of blue light and Magnus cried out as he was thrown back down the steps. Hitting his head, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Garroth groaned and stood. His army was virtually nonexistent. He was battered and bruised, and had had no real chance of combat. What would Khorne do with him now? Only one path was left to him: the dreaded result of failing the gods. Despair gripped him, he had allowed intruders to vanquish Khorne's servants and he himself had not gained any honour. He was doomed; spawndom would be his only reward. Glancing around for the blood-slick man, he felt a blade at his throat.

'Now its time for you to join the damned,' he heard a voice say. Merideon materialized in front of him. 'You should've joined me.'

'Wait,' Garroth protested. 'Wait…you have fought well, warrior. Let us end this in alliance and all will benefit. I have vital information about the Seas of Desolation, information that you will be glad to have. Allow me to aid you.'

For a moment Merideon considered. Khorne demanded bloodshed. But the cyst within him realised that any information making the path to Kharon's Book quicker was certainly welcome.

'Very well,' he said slowly, lowering his blade. 'What do you have?'

'There are three doors that stand alone upon the plain. They stand not with walls, but completely isolated except for each other, around three feet apart. The third door is the one you must choose. If you go through the first, you will have to fight through the Basin of Blood. If you enter the second, you must survive the perils of Mutant's Chasm. Only the third door allows you to continue through the Seas of Desolation unhindered.'

'Where are these doors?'

'You will encounter them, soon.' There was flash of bright light and then, with an evil laugh, Garroth began to dematerialise.

'No!' Merideon thrust forwards with his rapier but it was all ready too late. The Chaos Champion was gone.

There came a hideous, bestial roar from below. Spinning to investigate the noise, Merideon saw a massive, mutated beast emerging from the monolith's maw. It had a bull's head, sporting giant, curling horns and it stood on heavy hooves. Vast bunches of tentacles sprouted from its bulk, and one of its arms ended in a pincer claw. The Chaos Spawn smashed into Curl Horn, attacking the ogre with hellish fury. The ogre retaliated with his axe, carving gouges into the beast. But the wound he had taken from the Bloodletter had weakened him. Tentacles wrapped about the haft of his axe, restraining him. Blow after blow pounded into his body and rending claws struck deep into his heart. Locking eyes with his master, Merideon, the ogre gave one last roar and died.

'No! Curl Horn!' Merideon cried, rushing down the steps to his minion. But the ogre was dead. Watching as the Chaos Spawn wandered off to the north, he knelt by his faithful, one-time bodyguard.

'May the dark gods have mercy on you, Curl Horn.'

8


	4. Chapter 4: Gaaroth

C4 GAAROTH

_Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

IV

GAAROTH

As the Red Wolves continued on their journey across the Seas of Desolation, the laughter of Gaaroth echoed around them on the wind. Sometimes it was loud, other times it was very soft, a mere murmur. But it was always there, whether a slight chuckle or a full out roar of mirth. The Chaos Champion was watching them…Merideon could feel his eyes of flame. This was, after all, his territory.

As they passed a huge, stone monolith, the duellist fancied he could see Gaaroth's helmeted head, staring at them. But when he looked again, it was nothing but blank, craggy rock. Kurt was tired, his bird leg slowing him down. Frequently they had to stop and rest. Although their rations were low, their hunger and thirst had seemingly deserted them. These were strange lands, and strange rules held sway here, not the common laws of the material world. This was accentuated occasionally, by the weird outcroppings and disturbing things they saw. Vast boulders sitting on the plain like giant marbles seemed to move of their own accord when approached. Pillars and shifting isles defied gravity and floated independently hundreds of feet up in the rainbow sky. Rings of coloured light revolved around each other, constantly gyrating pebbles spinning in circles. They passed a ritual, where dancers, completely naked and covered in tattoos and sigils that hurt the eyes skipped in tight figures etched in blood upon the ground. Totally ignoring the travellers, their eyes flashed at the sky in various shades of blue and pink. Once, in the distance, Kurt spotted a huge, bat-like creature, flapping ponderously across the horizon. Its flight path was erratic, and its hide flickered with many colours, as if the skin couldn't choose what shade it should be.

A man, swathed in dark robes, stopped them. He was almost completely covered, except for his face, which sported a long, wrinkled trunk in place of a nose. His eyes were like those of a goat, with emerald, horizontal pupils. Speaking in some foreign language, he seemed to be asking the companions a question.

'Wanna wongah? Ishyou back-gaz hah?' But when no answer came, he continued on his way.

It was then that Magnus noticed something on the horizon. A colossal cloud of dust was rising, billowing out to either side like a monstrous ink stain.

'Is that approaching riders?'

'I think it's a storm,' Skurdi growled. He gripped his axe tightly. 'And no storm here in the wastes will be anything like what you've experience before.'

'We should bunch up,' Merideon said casually. 'Stay within reach of each other.'

It was indeed a storm, a sandstorm. As the Red Wolves bent their heads against the wind, dust and grit flying around them like an insane plague of insects, they trudged onwards, hoping that no beastmen or orcs would attack them in these horrid conditions. It was hard enough to keep walking forwards, and there was no shelter for miles around.

Looking up, Merideon swore he could see the flaming orbs of Gaaroth, staring down at them. As if on cue, an evil laugh burst from the hurricane, and a sudden blast of thunder split the air. There was a burst of blue lightning followed by an explosion of sand and dust as the companions were hurled apart.

'Foolish empire men…'

Magnus was picked up bodily by the storm and thrown to the ground. Hanging desperately onto Fellblade, he pawed at the dust stinging his eyes. Skurdi, likewise, was temporarily blinded. The slayer was sent rolling across the earth.

Merideon scrambled to his feet and grabbed Kurt's arm.

'Keep close, you hear? Keep close!'

'I got it, but where're the others?' Frantically Kurt looked around for Skurdi and Magnus. They were nowhere to be seen, lost in a swirling maelstrom of sand.

'Damn the gods,' Merideon cursed. 'I can barely see in this madness!'

'It's no good; we've lost them! Magnus! Skurdi! Where the hell are you?'

The only reply was that of the howling storm to the backdrop of Gaaroth's laughter.

Eventually the sandstorm dissipated. As Kurt and Merideon expected, they had lost the knight and the slayer. For a moment they paused to look around them. The plain stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see.

There were no others.

Giving a sigh of resignation, Merideon motioned that they should continue on their way, and hope that Magnus and Skurdi would catch up later on.

The two men had reached a system of massive stone monoliths, standing either side of a vast roadway. Its end was hidden as it curved away to the right. The stones were like giant sentinels, standing guard over a sacred path. A hulking, armoured warrior stood by a small shrine at the entrance, its flickering brazier burning with multi-coloured light.

'Who wishes to enter the Arena?' He made no aggressive move, even though he carried an ornate, double-handed axe, and there seemed to be no hostility in his metallic voice.

'It is I, Lord Merideon,' Merideon said calmly. He gestured with his sword arm. 'Does the Lord Gaaroth require a sacrifice?'

'If blood is given, a boon of the gods will Gaaroth grant,' came the reply.

For a minute the two men stood and argued. Neither wanted to 'lose blood' but if Gaaroth really was the lord of these lands, who could say how powerful he was? They were not in the Empire now; it was only right that they should respect the different culture and pay tribute to mighty Gaaroth. Finally, Merideon decided that, as this was his quest, he should be the one to sacrifice blood. Slicing across his palm with his blade, he let a few drops of dark-red blood leak down into the brass bowl upon the shrine. As soon as the droplets coalesced in the centre, hissing like a serpent, there was a slight tremor and suddenly the wind was silent.

'Gaaroth has blessed you,' the warrior intoned. 'You may go before him.'

'Go before…' Merideon raised his eyebrow. He sighed. 'Come on Waldheim.'

As the duo were striding confidently up the roadway, glancing left and right warily, and also wondering where in hell Skurdi and Magnus had got to, there came the tell-tale howl of chaos hounds. Immediately, Kurt raised his orcish sword and grinned.

'Kurt, wait.' Merideon said.

'Like hell,' Kurt snapped. 'Time to fight!' His eyes flashed maniacally, and he rushed away towards the approaching beasts.

'Kurt, we act as a team, you fool!'

It was too late. Merideon rushed after the man, but his boot caught a stone and he fell. He could hear the padding of the hounds' feet upon the flagstones ahead, the ghastly baying as they caught the scent of their prey. Suddenly the baying and howling became more intense and Merideon knew they had seen Kurt.

'Bloody fool,' he spat, struggling to his feet and twisting his ring. Gritting his teeth as pain washed through his body, he swallowed and tried to run. But for the moment he had to pause. Looking up the roadway, his eyes widened in horror.

A whole pack of chaotic hounds were charging towards the lone outlaw. At least two of them had gigantic scorpion tails arching above their backs. All of them had lips pulled back, fangs protruding and ears flat against their skulls.

'Prepare to die, dogs!' Kurt shouted, his blade glinting. He struck a combat stance.

'Sigmar's balls,' Merideon cursed.

Like a trio of thundering demons, the lead hounds rushed towards Kurt. Breathing calmly, sweat beading on his brow, the outlaw stood firm. Just before the point of impact, his blade descended. There was an explosion of bloody gore as the jagged sword bit into the first hound's neck. Time seemed to slow down as droplets spattered over Kurt's face and he felt the drag of the beast's weight on the blade. Then the moment had passed, and he yelled as the dying monster dragged him down. Seconds later the other hounds were upon him, biting and savaging with their vicious fangs. The outlaw disappeared beneath a rolling mass of filthy fur.

Merideon, regaining his balance and charging towards the fray, looked on in horror. He could make out pools of blood coalescing on the ground, and hear his companion's tortured screams of pain.

'Prepare to meet your demise, filthy curs!'

An invisible force speared one of the hounds through the throat. It whimpered as it died, and the others glanced around in confusion. A swift kick to one's head and a bloody slash to another's hide quickly sent the chaos dogs running in the opposite direction, their tails between their legs (except the ones with scorpion tails, as they wouldn't actually fit). The duellist sneered, spitting a glob of phlegm after his cowardly opponents.

'Cowards,' he snarled. 'May the dark gods curse you.'

Then he turned his attention to Kurt.

'Oh Waldheim…Waldheim. This may be the end for you…'

The outlaw's eyes were closed. His heart was still beating, but only just. His body was a mass of bloody gashes, claw marks and bites, many of them filled with a sticky, black residue. The leather jerkin he was wearing was a total wreck, ripped apart and destroyed beyond repair. His own blood seeped steadily into the dust beneath him. Under deep purple skies Merideon gave a sigh of regret.

Perhaps this was the end indeed for the outlaw Kurt Waldheim.

Lord Merideon, duellist, and, as far as he knew, last member of the Red Wolves, strode nonchalantly into the arena. He glanced casually left and right, noting the rusting iron chain linking the fence posts and the many pieces of debris littered about the dirty floor. The skies above had faded to a dirty bronze, and the auroras were coloured fiery orange and daffodil yellow.

Suddenly there was a flash of white light that enveloped the whole area. Merideon threw up his hand to shield his eyes and the familiar laughter of Gaaroth filled his mind. When the light faded, the chaos champion stood before him, a huge axe grasped in his gauntlets.

'Fool,' Gaaroth spat. 'Did you really think you could defeat the mighty Gaaroth? Hah, you were sorely mistaken. Now you will die, as have your comrades.'

'No,' Merideon hissed, 'you lie.' He tried to tell himself that the others lived. He twisted his ring, gritting his teeth against the pain that usually accompanied his invisibility. Gaaroth stared and roared with laughter.

'Within these boundaries,' he indicated the chain link fence, 'you have no power. Here, where I rule, you do not stand a chance. Pray to your gods.' Gaaroth strode forwards, his chaos armour clanking like a machine. The giant axe rose, its skull-bedecked head glinting in the dusky light. 'And pray to Khorne for your soul.'

As the Axe of Mighty Striking whistled down towards Merideon's head, he gave a cry of defiance and dodged aside. The axe crashed into the earth, and the duellist's blade arm struck out, thrusting through Gaaroth's left arm. Giving a roar of rage, the chaos champion removed the man, hurling him across the ground with a flick of his wrist. The axe carved through Merideon's shadow armour, and he cursed the gods as he felt the agony coursing through him. Leaping to his feet, he struck out again but this time the blade arm glanced off Gaaroth's breastplate. This triggered an apocalyptic burst of blue flame. A nova of energy spread outwards, throwing Merideon to smash sickeningly against a rock outside the arena. The duellist's vision went black as he was knocked out cold.

'Foolish man…'

The sandstorm blowing itself out, the last grains disappeared, leaving the Knight and the Slayer standing near a section of ruined pillars and tumbled stone blocks.

'Where the hell are we?' Morgan rumbled.

'Looks like some sort of arena,' Skurdi motioned with his axe. 'Perhaps Gaaroth's headquarters.' He started forwards, and Magnus followed.

They entered a scene of tragedy. Inside the chain link arena, stood Gaaroth, his axe ready, his eyes burning orbs. He seemed to be mocking them, although they couldn't see his face. On one side of the fence lay the bloody remains of Kurt Waldheim; on the other was Merideon. The duellist was motionless but looked relatively unharmed.

'So, we meet again, knight,' Gaaroth intoned. 'This time, perhaps you shall think before you act.' He raised his axe meaningfully.

Automatically, Magnus launched himself into the arena, swearing oaths of blood and destruction against the killer of his friends. Skurdi also charged forwards, but as soon as he made contact with the chain link fence he was hurled bodily backwards, as if he had crashed into an unseen wall.

'What in the name of Grimnir?'

The chaos axe clanged from Fellblade as the combatants duelled. Sparks flew and both struck out with mighty blows that would fell a lesser man. Parrying, slashing and hacking in turn, they circled and pushed their way around the dirt-floored arena. Neither weapon broke the armour of the other. Neither gave any ground. Helplessly, the slayer was forced to stand and watch as the fate of the Red Wolves hung in the balance. If the knight lost to Gaaroth, there was no hope left, for Magnus was a far greater warrior than Skurdi at this point in time. He was a slayer, but Magnus' experience, he had to admit, was greater than his own.

No insults or threats were exchanged, and the duellists fought in utter silence, their flaming glares the only means of non-physical communication. Axe and sword spoke in tongues of steel, and the ear-numbing ring of their blades was the only sound that broke the atmosphere. Hours seemed to pass as they battled, neither giving in to the other.

Finally Magnus began to tire. Pretending to falter, he lashed out with his sabaton, bringing Gaaroth to the ground. But as he stood over the chaos champion, Fellblade raised high, Gaaroth's own sabaton kicked out and brought Magnus down with a crash of metal. In a trice both were up with blade edges at the other's throat. Moments passed as Magnus breathed heavily. Then a thought occurred to him.

'A truce?'

'And what good would that do, I ask?'

'We…we are on a quest, to retrieve the book of Kharon Baal. Have you heard of it?'

'Not in my life time, knight.'

'Then come with us, your fighting abilities would be useful against the foes we will be pitted against.'

'You must be joking,' Gaaroth laughed. 'You need me because your companions are dead. Including the one who's quest it is.'

'No,' Magnus snarled, 'he lives. But let us be allies. We both have much in common, after all.'

For a moment Gaaroth considered. The two blades sparkled. No one moved.

'Very well, I accept your pathetic proposal. It could benefit us both.'

'Good.' Slowly, they both lowered their blades, wary for treachery.

'Heal my friends and join us,' Magnus growled. 'In return, you will be rewarded with a share of the spoils.'

'I don't need spoils,' Gaaroth snarled. 'But I will join you. This could be amusing…'

Magnus, Merideon, Kurt and Skurdi stood overlooking the last reaches of rock-strewn wasteland that made up the Seas of Desolation. The horizon was dotted with the first pine trees that indicated the next area of their quest: the Forest of the Damned. A little way below the ridge where they stood, waving his giant axe, Gaaroth motioned for the companions to follow.

'Come, I know this area well. But be wary: the forests are haunted and many beasts roam their depths.'

'Well, this could be interesting…' Kurt mused.

'He better not betray us,' Merideon spat. 'The book is mine.'

'Don't worry, Merideon,' Magnus said brusquely. 'I'll take care of Gaaroth.'

5


	5. Chapter 5: Death

C5 DEATH

_Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

V

DEATH

The huge beast gave vent to a roar that shook the surrounding forest. It was a giant of a troll, the biggest any of the companions had ever seen. It was green, and had scales like cobblestones, but a mane of filthy hair hung down from the creature's head and shoulders. Spines broke through the beast's back, and it swung a massive bone club.

'He's mine,' Skurdi growled, before launching himself forwards like a charging boar, his axe glinting. 'Prepare to meet your ancestors, troll!'

Kurt also made to run forwards, the light of battle coming into his eyes. But a strong, armoured gauntlet reached out and slammed against his chest. The knight turned his head to look at the outlaw.

'This is not your fight, Waldheim.'

For a moment the two men locked eyes in a contest of wills. Finally, Kurt broke eye contact and turned away.

'Whatever you say, Magnus.'

'My name now is Malaki, and you will address me as such, human.' The knight's voice resonated with dark majesty. To Kurt, it sounded very different to the gruff prince's son he once knew, so long ago. He glanced around at the companions, then down at his own clawed hands.

What had happened to them, he wondered. What had happened to that party of adventurers and vagabonds, the group of bandits that had taken over the town of Aldenheim, under the stern guidance of the warlock Siareth? It seemed only yesterday that they were drinking heartily in the tavern. And yet here they were, leagues and leagues away, damned and twisted by the powers of Chaos. It was a good place to be for an outlaw, and yet…was he having regrets, doubts? Trying to shake any feelings of such nature from his mind, he raised his head to watch the battle. Beside him Merideon and Malaki stood motionless, hands on sword hilts.

Skurdi rolled beneath the swing of the bone club and lashed out. The axe made contact with the troll's leg, cutting deeply. Blood sprayed the dwarf, but quickly the regenerative abilities of the beast took effect, and the wound closed. The slayer dodged aside again as the troll raised its weapon and slammed it downwards into the earth, sending up a cloud of dead leaves and dirt. He hacked and slashed wildly, each cut wounding the troll but the monster barely noticed its injuries. The slayer ducked again but this time the back swing rammed into him, throwing him bodily across the glade. He yelled wordlessly and then his cries were cut short as he crashed heavily into a tree trunk. The men watched as the slayer's body fell several feet to the ground. Sensing victory, the troll grunted and strode over. As Skurdi shook his head and spat blood from his mouth, he was seized up and flung straight up into the air. Limbs flailing, he dropped his axe and cursed in Khazalid. Then he began to descend, and his eyes widened in terror as he realized what his foe was doing.

Bone club raised, the troll swung mightily. With surprising accuracy, the crude weapon smashed into Skurdi, like a child's wooden stick hitting a ball. There was a sickening crunch as the dwarf's bones broke under the impact, and the slayer's body was thrown over the treetops like a twig-filled skin bag.

The last sound he ever heard was the hooting laughter echoing out across the forest.

Having avoided the troll, not wanting to suffer the same fate as Skurdi, the three Red Wolves gazed up at their companion, or rather what was left of him. The dwarf's mangled and twisted corpse was impaled on a giant, wooden stake embedded in the ground. The stake was a totem of sorts, bedecked with skulls, shields and all manner of bloodied trophies, taken from the slain. Now it had another.

'Well, he wasn't exactly like us, anyway,' Merideon sneered. 'Good riddance.'

'Hmmm…' Malaki averted his gaze. 'He did slay Siareth. Where'd that Gaaroth get to…'

As the others stalked off, searching for the Chaos Champion, Kurt Waldheim slung the dwarven runeaxe from his pack. This could be worth something.

The three men continued walking through the forest, following the armoured bulk of Gaaroth. But the Chaos Champion had vanished into the wilderness.

'Gaaroth!' Merideon called, frustration in his voice. 'Get back here you slimy toad!' Confused, he looked to Malaki. The knight shrugged.

'We'll keep going north. If this is north.'

Hours later, they emerged into a forest clearing. Above the sky could be seen, a strange mix of red and orange that resembled the contents of some witch's brew. The trees surrounding the glade were huge, and gnarled, their branches twisted and riddled with cracks and holes. Like bony fingers they pointed accusingly at the companions, leaves like flakes of rotting flesh adorning them. In the centre of the glade sat a squat alter of black iron. Upon it was a steel-coloured, open-faced helm, crowned with sweeping horns and edged in brass. A mysterious, red light emanated from the eye slits, although the helm was obviously empty.

'Well well, what's this?' Kurt strode nonchalantly towards the artefact.

'Waldheim,' Malaki cautioned. 'It could be dangerous.'

The outlaw did not reply. Before either of his companions could stop him, he picked up the helmet.

He was filled with a sudden dread, which spread through him like a wave of ice and fear. His mind reeled, his senses assaulted by the shrieking of lost souls. Then, after mere seconds, it evaporated. He noticed the tiny rubies running along the edges of the helmet, the enigmatic sheen of the star-metal, and the beautiful curve of the tall horns. This was truly a wonderful find. He wondered what it did, what magical properties the helm passed onto its wearer. He reversed the helmet and slowly, raised it towards his head…

Suddenly the artefact was knocked forcibly from his hands. It fell to the ground with a clang. Kurt looked around, irritation written on his features.

'I said don't put it on,' Malaki growled.

'You did?' Kurt was confused.

'Numerous times. Stow it,' he told Merideon, who had strangely grown some retractable fingers where his wrist merged with his rapier. 'Let's get moving.'

As the knight crossed the clearing, heading for the forest beyond, Merideon shoved the helmet in his pack, glancing meaningfully at Kurt. Then he stalked off after Malaki.

Kurt watched for a moment before following. An evil smile crossed his face.

Later that night, as the coals in the fire were glowing with the last vestiges of heat, Kurt opened his eyes just a fraction. His two fellows were sound asleep. He could tell by the sounds of loud snoring coming from Malaki's direction and the peaceful breathing of Merideon. No doubt the duellist was dreaming of Gabrielle. Rising from his blanket, and as silent as he could manage, the outlaw crept over to Merideon's gear. Lifting the flap on his bag, he immediately saw the helmet. It was easily the largest item inside, taking up most of the room. It glinted sinisterly in the half light, as if it was beckoning to him. Holding his breath, the outlaw reached in, and lifted out the helmet. There was a jingle as the pack's other contents were disturbed. Kurt froze as Merideon stirred in his sleep.

'Mmm…Gabrielle…that's the way…'

Seconds passed, but Merideon simply turned over and started snoring gently. Breathing a slight sigh of relief, Kurt completed his theft and secured the helmet beneath his arm. Lowering the bag's flap again with his other hand, he moved stealthily back to his own gear, and, as quietly as he could, packed it all up.

It was time to break with the Red Wolves.

Kurt stumbled through the night, his boots snapping twigs and crushing dead leaves underfoot. Branches grasped at his clothes and he inadvertently broke many as he rushed past. With a snigger of glee barely suppressed, his teeth flashing in a maniacal grin, and clutching his pack strap tightly with both hands, he failed to notice the red eyes gleaming in the darkness all around him.

He had already decided it was time to leave his fellows. There would be no changing that. He had thought back to the time in Ollar's abandoned castle, the light streaming through broken stained glass windows. Back then, he had thought about what would his life have been like if he hadn't chosen his current path. He had accepted his destiny, his fate, and since then had enjoyed his life. This was the life for him, he knew it. At the heart of the matter, he was an outlaw, a rogue, and always would be. This was an artefact that justified his betrayal. This helmet was worth betraying his friends, such was its power. He could feel it, even now, the energy pulsating from the artefact like a dark beacon, calling to him to put it on. And he would, in time.

There comes a time, he reasoned, when one must choose between friends and destiny, and for him…for him that time had come. The time is now, he told himself. The time is now.

Too late, he saw a pair of red eyes advancing on him. There was an animalistic growl, like a bear, and something else glinted in the dim light of the twin moons. The metallic hiss of steel being drawn grated upon his senses, and he whirled about, intending to change his course. But to his right more red eyes materialised, and the same to his left. Cursing the gods, Kurt ground to a halt and fumbled for his sword where it dangled from his left hip.

As he dragged the blade from its rusting scabbard, an arrow hissed through the air and sank into his left shoulder. He fell backwards, the orcish sword clattering to the ground. Seconds later, a massive beast stood over him, its goat-like head dripping saliva onto his face. In its hands it held a wicked looking axe, and an eight-pointed star had been burned into its brow.

Suddenly Kurt found himself wishing he hadn't left camp…

Dawn came purple and bruised, with a streak of crimson fire lancing across the horizon. Rolling onto his back, Merideon rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared up at the violet sky. He had been dreaming about his beloved. What was she doing now? Where was she? Still in Deinste? He doubted that. The village was such a backwater he was sure she would've travelled away to the closest city in search of entertainment. He glanced lazily around the dell where they had made camp. Malaki was still asleep, his fur cloak enshrouding him so that he resembled a huge beast. Of Kurt there was no sign. Blinking, the duellist turned his head and struggled to his feet.

'Waldheim?' He looked around, seeing nothing but the rocks and stunted trees. The wind whispered gently, stirring the ashes in the fire. 'Waldheim? Malaki, awake!'

Malaki awoke with a start, leaping to his feet and unsheathing Fellblade in one smooth motion. He gazed around him, fangs bared menacingly.

'Are we under attack?'

Merideon rolled his eyes.

'No, you oaf. Waldheim's missing.'

'Bloody fool,' the knight snarled. His glowing eyes alighted on Merideon's bag.

'What? What is it?' The noble followed his friend's gaze. Stooping, he checked his gear. 'The helm! It's gone!'

'So, after all this time, the outlaw has proved his worth…as a true outlaw.' Malaki snorted. He lifted his face, as if sniffing the wind like a hound. 'Come, he's this way.' The knight, not having bothered removing his armour, seized up his pack and strode away to the north. Hastily strapping on his armour, and slinging his bag over his shoulder, Merideon followed the hulking figure.

The two men entered a scene of horror. Although it was currently vacant, the beastman encampment stank, of blood and burning flesh. Huge piles of spoor and bones littered the ground, around a huge, stone monolith: the Herdstone. Draped with chains and painted with various chaotic runes, it was also host to a more disturbing trophy, hung like a human cross shape – Kurt Waldheim.

The man was naked, broken, and bloodied. His limbs were twisted and gored, his face was a mass of scars and cuts. His right eye had been torn out, leaving a bloody hole and his left ear was missing. His hair had been unevenly hacked off and huge rents in his body revealed his broken ribs and protruding bones. His wounds wept pus and blood. His hands and groin area had been mutilated and his left hand had only one finger and the thumb left. Below him, on the ground, lay his open pack, its contents spilled unceremoniously, the glinting helmet sitting amidst the pile of items.

'Oh no,' Merideon breathed, 'Waldheim. What have you done to yourself?'

'Stupid fool,' Malaki snapped. 'I knew this would happen eventually. The man cannot control his greed.'

'Well, we've got to cut him down.' Merideon stalked forward. But before he reached the Herdstone, a horn blared in the surrounding forest.

'Blood,' Malaki swore, 'the beasts are coming back. Quickly!'

Merideon dashed across the last few feet and slashed hurriedly at the outlaw's bonds. The chains were rusted, and with a clink they parted, sending the man crashing sickeningly to the ground. Then the beastmen returned.

'You whore sons!' Malaki roared, raising Fellblade. 'Time for you to die!'

'Feel my fury, for the blood god!' Merideon's eyes glazed over in a crimson wave as his cyst took control. 'You will decorate the skull throne this day!'

His mad laughter rang out as both duellist and knight succumbed to blood-crazed insanity and lust for vengeance.

Malaki swung out at a Gor charging towards him. The double-handed blade sliced through the beast's multiple horns. In response it hacked at him with a spiked mace, braying a savage warcry. He turned to take the blow on his pauldron, before slashing back and taking the Gor down in a fountain of inky gore. Another beast attacked him, stabbing a crude spear at his nether regions. Lashing out with his sabaton, he knocked the creature backwards. Following up, he thrust Fellblade, spearing the Ungor's chest. It shrieked as it died.

Merideon's rapier flickered back and forth, parrying and slicing in equal measure, bloody spray spurting the air. His face was spattered with the stuff, but he periodically licked his lips, enjoying the taste of blood. He was assaulted by a trio of Ungors, two of them armed with spears. Slicing through the spear heads, he danced away from the wild swing of the third beast's scimitar. He rammed into one, slamming his gauntlet into its head, crushing its skull, and spinning to face the others. Kicking the legs out from an Ungor, he punched the other in the head and turned to face his next opponent.

The wargor strode through its minions, intent on killing the hu-men itself. Smashing aside Ungors in its way, it bleated a warcry and bared its inhuman fangs. The two men, fighting viciously, were concentrating on their foes, not aware of the wargor's presence. Slitting its eyes, the wargor decided to attack the slimmer of the two men, he who looked weaker. It gave an animalistic roar and stampeded forwards on cloven hooves, its massive axe raised.

Another Gor leapt over the bodies surrounding the knight and smashed its club across the knight's helmet. Staggering backwards, Malaki felt the impact of a further blow as the weapon cracked against his breastplate. Righting himself, he scythed downwards, taking out one of the beast's legs. Blood sprayed and the knight twisted to face another Gor as it hacked downwards at him with a flailing mace and chain. The spiked ball missed his head and he thrust Fellblade brutally through the beast's gut. As he pulled out the blade, hot blood spurted and engulfed him. He closed his eyes momentarily, taking in the delicious stench.

Merideon stabbed the Gor through the throat, killing it and pulling out his pistol with the other hand. With his left arm still in the corpse, he fired to his right. Another Gor's head exploded like a ripe melon hit by a sledgehammer. Then a huge force slammed into the duellist from behind, knocking him down. He was nearly trampled as the wargor rushed over him. Rolling aside and getting to his feet, he dodged the axe as it scythed towards his neck.

'Khorne favours me, beast!' He spat, discarding his pistol and unsheathing another sword, one with a jagged edge. He struck a stance. The wargor was around seven feet tall, its ugly head crowed with three sets of curled horns. Upon its brow was burned the mark of Khorne, and it clutched a great axe in its blackened claws. Its nostrils flared, and it roared with bestial fury. Charging him with frightening speed, it crashed against him and the metal blades screamed as they slammed together, sparks flying. Using its superior strength the beast pushed Merideon back, forcing him towards the Herdstone. He tripped on a corpse and nearly fell, trying to dodge the beast's next swing. It was all he could do to avoid the massive weapon as it swung in a deadly figure of eight. The wargor bellowed, its red eyes gleaming with hate. Parrying again desperately, Merideon stumbled backwards before the onslaught. The beast was so strong. Rippling muscles gave each blow so much power, and the thing walked on heavy hooves that crushed the bodies beneath it into the dust. Feinting to the right, he tried to spear the beast's side as its axe came crashing into a nearby rock. But the creature was fast, and as the duellist made to strike it kicked out with its hoof. Bones broke beneath the impact and Merideon was sent flying several feet through the air, landing heavily. Agony flared, and he knew ribs were snapped.

The remaining beasts concentrated on Malaki, leaving their master to deal with the other human. The knight slashed a beast from neck to groin, and another Gor struck at him from behind, plunging its spear through the gap between his breastplate and backplate. Throwing his head back he roared in pain, before whirling and cutting the creature in half. Blood fountained as the top half fell. Another Gor came at him and he lunged, taking the thing's head off in one blow. Becoming like a whirlwind of bloody death, he spun around, killing everything in reach in an orgy of destruction and bloodlust. He cut open guts, spilling entrails. He slashed backwards-joined legs, bringing Fellblade down to carve bloody ruin. Every blow from the daemonblade left a broken corpse, explosions of blood and gore spattering with every blow. Axes and maces crashed against his armour, but he turned and cut down his foes, a curtain of red mist descending over his vision. The ground beneath his boots was slippery and wet with blood and corpses.

He became like a god of war, fangs bared and yelling incoherently in his rage.

Kurt Waldheim opened his eyes a fraction. He groaned horribly. His body screamed in constant agony, pain flaring along every nerve. His blood flowed from his wounds, drenching the earth on which he lay, pumping out like a beer tap. He tried to resist the urge to vomit, but failed miserably, hurling a slop of blood that burst from his lips and ran down his chin. Dragging himself half upright, he reached out and grasped a rusty dagger that lay amidst the piles of trophies at the base of the Herdstone. He was dead, he knew it, but maybe he could do one last thing before he finally entered Morr's realm. Hellfire burned in every joint as he moved, and he screamed hideously. But he knew he had to die fighting, killing. He glanced upwards through his bloodshot eye and hauled himself towards the wargor.

Merideon righted himself groggily, reaching out for his sword. It had fallen beyond his grasp, and he cursed richly. Before he could get to his feet, a shadow loomed over him. The wargor opened its fanged maw and roared loudly, the sound sending shockwaves through Merideon's senses, causing him to clap his hands to his ears and grit his teeth in pain. Taking advantage, the beast kicked out with a cloven hoof, smashing Merideon's knee and sending him stumbling backwards. Then the beast brought its hoof thundering down on his leg, pinning it to the ground. The noble shrieked with the pain, feeling white hot agony lancing down his shattered leg. The monster gave another bellow of rage and raised its axe, its eyes glinting with inhuman hate. Was this the end, Merideon thought? He raised his blades to intercept the coming blow.

The axe came down. Smashing aside the noble's feeble attempt to defend himself, it bit deep. Merideon screamed, and a geyser of blood spurted skywards. Luckily the blade had struck between his collarbone and shoulder, but by the gods it hurt like hell. His arm was nearly severed, and his whole world was one of pain.

Screaming and screaming, his eyes alternately screwed tight and open wide, he tried to drag his body clear, but his leg was trapped. He was helpless. Another blow and he'd be dead. The stink of gore was overwhelming and he fought with all his strength to remain conscious.

The wargor raised its axe again for the killing blow.

'Die, die, die!' A bloody, twisted shape flung itself towards the massive wargor, even as the axe descended in a bloody arc. Kurt was aiming to kill the beast, his dagger flashing. But, staggering forwards on unsteady legs, they gave way with a horrid crack. Instead of the weapon plunging into the wargor's neck, the outlaw fell in front of the flashing axe, unintentionally saving Merideon's life.

With the crunch of steel biting into meat, the axe blade slammed into Kurt, severing his spine and sending him plummeting on top of Merideon's body. Blood gushed from the fatal wound and the noble screeched in agony, before promptly passing out in a spreading pool of blood.

A sound, Kurt Waldheim's barely perceptible last words, escaped from bloodied lips.

'Well, that's more like something a hero would've done…'

Malaki was covered from head to foot in the blood of his enemies. Finally killing the last beastman, he snarled like a lion, hungry for more kills. Twisting his head around, Malaki witnessed the last act of Kurt Waldheim. He stared in utter horror at the massive wargor. Speechless, his gaze fell to the bodies of his fellows at the beastman's hooves.

A moment passed as he realized he was alone.

'You…you bloody whore son! I'll drink your soul!'

As the wargor turned away from the bodies of the hu-men, it suddenly lurched forwards as Fellblade impaled it from behind. Erupting from the beast's chest, the daemonblade seemed to shriek in victory as the ribcage was thrust outwards, slopping blood in a messy burst of gore. Malaki roared in anger, twisting the sword and pushing it further in, making sure the wargor suffered terribly. With a bellow that ended in a racking fit of coughing, blood vomiting from the beast's maw, it went limp, the axe falling from its slackened grip.

Breathing heavily, his eyes burning with intense hatred, Malaki drew out Fellblade and roared his anger to the burning skies. The beastman's corpse collapsed, blood pumping from its chest, and the knight knelt quickly and seized his dead foe's throat. Plunging his fangs into the jugular vein, he drank greedily, slopping hot blood on his face and neck in his unholy thirst.

As the twin moons rose amidst flickering, orange skies, Malaki heaved the body of Kurt Waldheim into a shallow pit. Kneeling, he cast about for something to say. The outlaw had been part of the Red Wolves since the beginning, so long ago. But he said nothing. Instead he tossed the outlaw's gear into the pit with him, along with the damned helmet that had led to his demise.

A tortured groaning alerted his attention to the body of his other companion. Lifting Fellblade, intending to end the life of whatever beast had survived the slaughter, he strode amongst the dead, searching for the noise. Then he realised it was Merideon. Sheathing the daemonblade, he knelt by the noble, incredulous.

'You're…alive?'

'You…' Merideon gasped. 'You might say that. But hardly.'

'I'm glad you woke up. Otherwise I might've thrown you into the pit with Waldheim.'

'Waldheim?' Merideon stared up at Malaki. The knight nodded.

'Dead. Just like an outlaw though. To his dying breath, he acted like a bastard. How ironic that as his last act he ended up doing something heroic.'

'Heroic? Waldheim?'

Malaki grimaced, then chuckled. 'Yeah. Saving your hide.'

For four long weeks the last surviving members of the Red Wolves recovered. Merideon's injuries were healing, and they suspected that the intelligent cyst within him had something to do with it. But still, it was a painfully slow process. Gaaroth was little help. His favour in the Dark Gods' eyes only extended so far. He had not been able to heal Merideon this time.

They had made camp in an orc village. A battle against the greenskins had proved that, although formidable fighters, Malaki and Merideon were only two men. Gaaroth had again mysteriously gone on ahead, and without Kurt, or Skurdi, they had been insanely hard pressed to gain victory. Each day now would be difficult, filled with a battle for their very survival. Hoping to find something to aid them in their quest, Merideon had ransacked the orc chief's hut, and discovered a magical stone which imbued him with strength. But it was little comfort. They still had a long way to go before reaching the dwarven fortress on the map. They would be lucky if they survived the next few days. Deep in the heart of the Forest of the Damned, many perils still lay in wait. Only the gods knew if they were to make it out alive…

7


	6. Chapter 6: Priestess

C6 PRIESTESS

_Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

VI

PRIESTESS

For four long weeks the trio ventured through the forest. All around them the trees seemed to be growing in size, their trunks huge and rotten, gnarled like a grandmother's bony fingers thrusting up out of the dark earth. A strange, eerie silence had descended, and with it an aura of deep fear, like nothing they had experienced before. It was if the air itself was dead, the life sucked out of it leaving nothing but a dry state of existence simply waiting until the Chaos Wastes swallowed up the forest in its next tide of mutating change. No wind blew, no creatures emerged to challenge them. Silence reigned supreme in this land, the only sounds being those of their own laboured breathing and the crunch of their boots on the dead leaves underfoot.

Finally, Gaaroth led the last two Red Wolves to a doorway of sorts: a massive archway formed from two dead trees. Etched into their trunks were the frozen forms of screaming faces, fixed in an eternal shriek of terror. What manner of horrors lay beyond, Merideon thought as he glanced past the tree trunks. He looked upon a blasted pathway, winding its way between a forest of the dead: leafless trunks laid bare, their bone-white bark riddled with the same frozen faces. Into the distance the path dwindled, until further up where he could just make out a dark mass of pine trees, standing in stark contrast to the dead forest. Malaki shoved past Gaaroth and also examined the path ahead; though his eyes glinted with a savage light. Merideon raised an eyebrow: was this the vampire within the man coming to the fore? Was this a realisation of what Malaki would love to see visited upon the mortal world, a world of dust and death? Before he could speak, Gaaroth grunted and turned to leave.

'This is as far as I take you. You are on your own.'

'What?' Merideon snapped. 'But…'

'We no longer need him,' Malaki said casually, his bright eyes on the dead path.

'Head for the pines. Your way lies beneath.' Gaaroth gave them a brief salute before trudging back the way they had come. The last rays of sun vanished behind slate-grey clouds and the duellist turned his attention to the road ahead.

'Well…'

'Onto the path,' Malaki snapped. 'Death awaits…'

'Death?' Merideon stammered 'What do you mean?'

'You will see, boy.'

Merideon hardly believed he was a boy any longer, but he didn't argue, especially when Malaki turned briefly to face him. The fangs were bared. Breaking eye contact, Merideon shuddered involuntarily and hastened down into the valley.

As they made their way along the pathway, their boots sifting through a fine, suspiciously bone-like material, they heard a series of spine-chilling whispers all around them. Starting gradually, then ebbing and flowing like a ghostly zephyr, the voices started freaking Merideon out. Looking to his comrade, he saw that Malaki had no such vulnerabilities. Instead, his eyes were glinting, horribly, and his flesh had become paler than usual. The Spirit Blade, slayer of the Undead, was in his armoured fist, its blade glowing with a soft, blue light. Rounding a corner, they were met with a strange sight. It was not a creature of the Undead though.

'Greetings, men,' came a voice that resonated with silky softness, and yet if one listened carefully had an edge of deadly suggestion. Malaki's eyes hardened and he raised his sword, baring his fangs. He snarled, clearly annoyed. Merideon approached with caution, his gaze flickering over the female human.

She was slender, but he could see a lithe grace to her like that of a hunting cat. Clad in a diaphanous, blue robe, she had eyes that matched her garb, sparkling with an inner, sapphire light. Her hair, golden like ripe wheat, cascaded down around her shoulders. In one hand she held a brutal looking sword, its tip resting in the dust.

'And who, pray tell, are you, wench?' Merideon quickly got over her divine beauty. Instead of being entranced by her, he was merely irritated, as she reminded him of Gabrielle Glint, who he had left behind so long ago. It pained him now, and he wondered briefly what Gabrielle was up to at this moment.

'You may call me Katarina,' the wench replied. 'I am a priestess of the Great Lord Tzeentch. And I have been sent to aid you.'

'Really?' Merideon cocked his head to one side. He glanced at Malaki. The knight was staring at the wench, his left hand fingering the blade of his sword.

'I think we should kill her,' Malaki spat. A glob of blood congealed on the dust floor. A darkness came into his eyes. He leaned forwards. 'And drain her…'

'No, I have a better idea,' Merideon drawled, his eyes on Katarina. He strode forwards nonchalantly, his blade arm coming up to caress the wench's cheek. In a flash she sprang away with a burst of blue sparks, the sword clanging loudly against the blade arm. Merideon laughed, evilly. 'Wench,' he chuckled.

'Defile me not, monster,' Katarina hissed, like a rising serpent. She twirled her sword, a nimbus of azure energy playing about her other hand.

'You think I'm a monster,' Merideon laughed, rolling his eyes. His eyes moved to Malaki, before quickly moving back to the wench. 'Here's the deal. You guide us through this hateful land, and we'll let you live. Perhaps you may be of use to us further.' Reduced to half strength, the duellist knew they could do with another member to their group. And if the wench could use magic, it was certainly welcome. To an extent.

'Her blood is strong,' Malaki snarled. 'I can feel it. Let me drink a little.'

'No, brother,' Merideon sighed, laying his blade arm across the knight's breastplate as he moved forwards, hungrily. 'We need her.' With a grunt, the vampire mutant lowered his blade and looked away.

'Very well, men,' Katarina replied after a moment's consideration. 'I will aid you. But only because Lord Tzeentch commands me to. Try anything, and you will regret it.'

'Whatever you say, wench,' Merideon sneered. 'Lead on.'

With a slash to the creature's fleeing back, the Spirit Blade severed the spine and toppled the corpse to the ground, blood pooling into a mess of gore. Not even pausing to admire his handiwork, the knight turned and lashed out, catching another ghoul as it turned to flee. The blade bit into the beast's neck, cutting the head from the shoulders with a bloody spray. Before the head could fall, Malaki reached out with his left gauntlet and grabbed it, thrusting his fangs into its rich, juicy interior. Blood spattered his face as he drank deeply, satisfying his red thirst.

'Must you do that?' Katarina was clearly unimpressed. She stood with her hands on hips, the bodies of several ghouls around her, their corpses burned and ashen. Turning towards the priestess, his lips and teeth drenched in gore, Malaki gave a wide, sadistic grin. He squared his armoured shoulders, the light glinting on his blood-flecked pauldrons.

'I must.'

'Don't worry about him, wench,' Merideon shouted, dispatching the last of the ghouls with a blast of gunfire. The monster's head exploded, showering the duellist with blood and brain matter. 'It's his nature. Well, now it is, anyway.'

'Where to next?' Malaki grunted, between mouthfuls of ghoul-flesh. It had been a while since he'd last eaten, and thought he'd better take advantage of the fresh meat. Discarding the remains, he kicked the body savagely with his boot.

Katarina gave him a disgusted look before replying.

'This way, butcher.' She chose a route along the dead path and strode away, tossing her golden tresses over her shoulder.

'Watch your tongue, bitch,' Malaki roared, blood flicking from his fangs.

The forest opened up into a glade, surrounded by trees flanked by huge black shadows. Indeed, dusk had fallen and the dread aura of the forest deepened. As the trio entered, something moved from the far side of the clearing, and green orbs of witchfire blinked into existence.

'The Dead Ones, they come,' Katarina said softly.

'I can see they're dead, wench,' Merideon reprimanded. 'We've fought the Undead before.'

However, these were not like the Undead the Red Wolves had battled previously. The warriors assembling to block the way were skeletal, but their eyes glowed with eerie balefires that spoke of centuries of hate and loathing. Their armour was rusting and its design was clearly of an age long past. Shields bordered with bat-wings and claws dragged on the dusty ground, and blades etched with arcane runes gave off a cold, evil light.

These were no mere Undead soldiers. They were the damned heroes of another time, brought back from Sigmar's age and cursed to walk again in damnable unlife. Their gear was intact: hellish swords that emanated fear and the promise of intolerable pain and agony. The spark of intelligence glimmered in the warriors' eyes, envy and hatred of the living as well as defiant independence.

These were the Barrow Wights of Arduli-Khan.

There was a rasping sound, as the lead Wight approached the companions.

'Who dares to wake the Arduli-Khan?'

'I dare, elder ones,' Malaki said curtly, striding forwards, his sword levelled at the Wight's ravaged chest. There was a moment of silence as both took part in a contest of wills. The Wight's stare was older, and more powerful, but the flaming orbs of Malaki were strong, and growing brighter every day. Katarina and Merideon watched helplessly as the other Wights slowly surrounded them, gleaming blades raised in unholy respect to the vampiric mutant. They formed a circle, as if preparing to watch some dire ritual about to be carried out.

Suddenly there was flash of movement as Wight King and Knight crossed swords. Sparks of greenish energy flew and the two warriors circled, looking for an opening. They leapt forwards again and the clash of their blades broke the eerie silence. The Spirit Blade parried the Wight blade and then swept around for a counter attack. The blow took the Undead warrior in the right shoulder, separating a piece of rusting armour. In response he lunged forwards viciously, the green blade aiming at the Knight's heart. Malaki dashed back, parrying and thrusting. The two combatants sparred, exchanging blows in rapid, fluid movements that belied their heavy armour and undead characteristics. The Wight King was fast, but Malaki was faster. After another round of parries and sword strikes, the Spirit Blade arched up and cut the Wight King's skull clean off. The bat-winged helm came clanging to the ground and rolling through the dust. Seconds later the corpse collapsed, the ancient blade thudding to the earth.

'Now, begone, foul nightmares,' Malaki growled, waving his gauntlet in a dismissive gesture. As one, the other Wights bowed their heads, almost imperceptibly, before turning and vanishing into the shadows.

'What the hell did you do there?' Merideon was stunned. Katarina slitted her eyes, intrigued.

'I…feel the changes coming over me,' the knight mused, his eyes roving. 'What are you waiting for bitch? Move.' The gleaming orbs came to rest on the priestess. In his gaze was hellfire.

Katarina curled her lip, her eyes flashing dangerously. Nevertheless, she huffed and pushed past the knight, her hair streaming behind her.

A vast stretch of dead grass lay before them. It was a cul-de-sac, surrounded on three sides by towering pine trees, standing like dark sentinels. Here, an encampment had been established. Racks of weapons stood adorned with swords, axes, shields and halberds and huge, brass-bound tables sagged beneath the weight of numerous tomes, weapons and parchments. An armoured warrior, wearing a familiar helm of steel and brass upon his head and standing in front of a plush, red-leathered throne, stared back at the companions as they approached. They couldn't see his face, only a reddish light.

'Welcome, welcome,' the warrior sniggered, almost to himself. 'You are here to enjoy the deaths granted by the Arduli-Khan?' Two suits of armour leaning against the weapon racks seemed to come to life. A quick glance revealed the glint of hellish blades and decrepit bones supporting the beaten up armour.

'Die, warrior,' Malaki roared, charging up to the table behind which the warrior stood. He leapt up onto it and brought Fellblade crashing down. There was a mighty crunch as the daemonic weapon impacted on the chaos armour, accompanied by insane giggling and laughing that echoed on the wind. Then the suit crumpled to the ground, empty and dead. Confused, the knight glanced down.

The helm of madness seemed to beckon…

'Here, take this piece of junk,' Malaki spat, leaping down and picking up the helm with the tip of his sword. He flung it at Merideon, only to have the artefact fall short and bounce noisily to the ground.

The duellist's attention was occupied elsewhere. As a Wight guard shuffled towards him, its killing blade raised to strike, he spat out words of hate.

'I will crumble your balls to dust!'

The retort fell on deaf ears. Or rather, ears that didn't actually exist. The Wight's eyes gleamed, and Merideon pulled his pistol from his belt. Grimacing, he squeezed the trigger and the resulting blast of black powder exploded the Wight's rotting skull into a cloud of dust and bone fragments.

Red fire bolts leapt from Katarina's outstretched sword to engulf the other Wight. As the flames ravaged the undead warrior's body, she strode forth to smash the burning wreck asunder with huge sweeps of her sword. Still struggling against its inevitable demise, the Wight crumbled to dust, its armour, sword and shield falling in a pile of junk.

Merideon rummaged amongst the books and parchments on the tables. His map had mysteriously ripped, leaving a gaping chunk missing. Where were they meant to go next? The Daemon Labyrinth had been defeated. The Seas of Desolation had been crossed. The Forest of the Damned had been passed through. Most of the tomes were written in the Dark Tongue, spells and histories of things he had no interest in or time to read. No clues or answers seemed to be here. In disgust, he pushed a pile of parchments from him, spilling it onto the ground.

'Useless dog manure…' Suddenly his eye caught a particular line of text that stood out from the rest on a scrap of torn parchment. It was written in blood. 'The one-eyed guard the key…'

Glancing around the clearing, Malaki could see no way out. He hacked and slashed wildly at the dense pines, but the trees were growing too close together. Then, turning to regard the floor of the glade, he saw the wooden, square trapdoor. An iron pull ring was attached to one side.

'Ah, the way forward. Hurry up, bitch, Merideon, we leave here now!' Seizing the ring and heaving, Malaki was shocked as a huge metal talon shot up through a gap between the slats, before retracting again. 'Sigmar's bloody…'

'The key must be around here somewhere,' Merideon snapped. The note he had found must surely refer to something beyond the trapdoor; a different door. He tried opening one of the chests. Not surprisingly, a metal claw lashed out, slicing across his hand. 'Damn you! I've already lost one hand, I'd rather keep this one!'

Katarina's keen eyes scoured the area. Something gold glinted in the pile of chaos armour. Racing over, she snatched up the keys and together she and the duellist unlocked the trunks. In the left one, half buried amidst a cache of gold crowns, was a rusty key.

'This is it,' Merideon sneered. Kneeling by the trapdoor, he inserted the key and turned. Again the metal blade slammed upwards, taking the duellist in the shoulder. He was thrown backwards by the force. Cursing richly, he staggered back, hurling the key at Katarina.

'There must be a way to disarm the trap,' the priestess reasoned, her eyes roving again. 'The throne…'

Malaki was easing himself down onto the comfortable-looking seat. As his gauntlets gripped the arms, he nudged a switch and a series of clicks sounded from behind the trapdoor.

As the wench climbed down the metal ladder into the darkness, following Merideon's lantern, a terrible howl split the air. Then came the padding of numerous paws, and the tramp of booted feet. Malaki turned to see a pack of giant, undead wolves, their bones exposed through rotting fur, loping from the far treeline. There were at least ten wolves. Goading them on, were the Arduli-Khan.

'Get a move on,' he snarled, backing down the ladder. The chase was on.

5


	7. Chapter 7: Companionship

C7 COMPANIONSHIP

_Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

VII

COMPANIONSHIP

The companions rushed down a dimly lit corridor, hearing the howling of dire wolves and rasping breath of the Arduli-Khan up above. Frantically, they looked for a door, but found none. The passage ended in a huge pile of dust and rubble. Clearly the tunnel, dug out long ago, had collapsed. Their path was blocked, and now they were surely doomed as their pursuers battered against the trapdoor.

'Come on, where's the damned exit?' Merideon shouted, searching frantically, desperately. His hands flew over the walls as he looked for a switch or lever. Malaki strode over to the rubble and rummaged amongst the rocks and debris. Moments passed and then he heard a click followed by the distinctive grinding of stone on stone.

'Got it,' Merideon said, almost hysterically. He slipped through the gap before the doorway had fully opened and quickly disappeared from view.

'Merideon, wait!' Malaki rolled his eyes and snarled. 'What's got into him?'

'Men,' Katarina sighed, and the knight glanced at her disgustedly.

Merideon ran down the incredibly narrow passageway, cobwebs and filth brushing against his jerkin. He ducked his head as he passed a glob of webbing hanging from the low ceiling. Had that been Gabrielle he had just seen, flitting into the darkness ahead? He could swear he had just seen someone. Coming to an intersection, he chose to go right and passed beneath a crumbling, stone archway. Pushing the hair out of his eyes and adjusting his hat, he ran on, not seeing the tripwire until it was too late. Crying out, he fell forwards, stumbling down into a smooth-floored passageway that angled downwards. Clinging onto the lantern with one hand, he flung out his other to find a grip on the wall, but there was nothing. It was smooth as glass, and he slipped and tumbled into the darkness.

Behind him, a stone wall descended over the archway's mouth.

'Did you hear that?' Malaki grunted. He narrowed his eyes, peering into the shadows. The passageways in this labyrinth were insanely close, forcing them to walk in single file. Cobwebs and dust cloaked the entire place, giving the impression it was long abandoned. It was very claustrophobic and Malaki, although inured to such places over the course of the last couple of years, was still disturbed at the thought that they might have to fight in these cramped conditions. He certainly hoped not. There was barely enough room to swing a sword, let alone a great sword. 'Give us a light, will you?'

'Here,' Katarina held up her hand, closing her eyes. She muttered something in the Dark Tongue, a phrase that sent a shiver up Malaki's spine. Seconds later a spherical ball of energy hovered above her outstretched hand, flickering and dancing with tiny, rainbow-coloured flames. It illuminated a passageway branching off to the left, and what looked like a blocked up archway to the right.

'I think we're going to the left,' the knight intoned. He set off without waiting for an answer, dragging the daemonblade from its scabbard. 'Coming, wench?'

The pit trap yawned, blocking the path ahead. It wasn't too deep, but still required jumping over. It was the only way past. Katarina skipped lightly over, regardless of her robes. Then she turned to wait for Malaki.

The knight looked down into the pit. He sheathed Fellblade and rolled his shoulders. Breathing out, he swallowed and told himself he could do it. Taking two deep breaths, he ran forwards, his armour clanking. He leapt, and for a moment he thought he was going to make it. Then he promptly fell short, crashing into the pit with a sickening crunch.

'Damn you Sigmar!'

'Throw me your rope,' came the voice of Katarina. 'I can loop it onto the wall bracket.'

Resenting his own failure, especially in front of a woman, Malaki did as he was asked and uncoiled his rope, throwing it up to Katarina. Glancing up he could see her tying its end securely and tugging it to make sure.

'Come on, it's tight.'

The knight pulled the rope, testing it. Then, slowly, he began to climb. When he made the top, he let go and hurled himself at the edge, scrambling up with all the dignity of a half-drowned cat. Glaring at Katarina, he untied the rope and stormed off into the darkness.

A set of double doors glared down at them, its brass knockers resembling gargoyles biting down on iron hoops. Around the door blazed a border of red light. After a moment of consideration, Malaki shoved Katarina forwards.

'Open the door.'

'Why me? You're the big, armoured...'

'Just do it.' The knight's tone brooked no argument.

'As you say…' Katarina stepped up to the doors and took hold of one of the handles.

Immediately, her mind was blasted with chaotic energy. Screaming skulls of flaming white power invaded her consciousness, laughing insanely and swooping past her overhead. Flickers of blue-white lightning flashed and crackled in the background and her eyes rolled up into her head. She was about to collapse when a strong arm gripped her.

'Don't you dare go fainting on me, wench,' came the voice of Malaki.

'You're…you're wounded.' Katarina's blue eyes flickered as she saw the gaping injury in the knight's side.

'I got it back there against the wight bastards. It'll heal.'

Katarina closed her eyes.

'Wench! I said don't faint, do you hear me? Wench…uh, Katarina…'

Malaki could feel a slight tingling, like a woman's touch. It flowed through him, like an electrical current but warm and soothing. Slowly, he could feel the gash closing as it healed over. He didn't say a word, savouring the magic.

'I…I owe you one.' He grudgingly admitted, when the wound had vanished.

Katarina smiled beguilingly at him and then turned to the doorway.

'It appears that this door…is locked,' she said simply. 'There must be another way.'

'Hmmm…if you say so.'

The two adventurers walked back the way they had come. Katarina's gaze wandered across the walls, searching. The dim light of the sphere bobbing over her shoulder illuminated a faint line surrounding one of the giant stones in the wall.

'It's here,' she said, directing the knight to the secret door. Malaki grimaced, before slamming his weight against the block. It moved a fraction, revealing a gap.

'Shine your light in there,' he murmured. When she did so, he peered through. He could see another narrow passage, one person wide, continuing on the other side. He sighed. Whoever constructed this place must've been on wierdroot, he thought. Or else they were possessed of a particularly twisted sense of humour.

After a bout of pushing and swearing profusely, the duo was able to open the door enough to squeeze through. Practically charging down the corridor, they arrived at two identical doors. Malaki wrinkled his nose. This stank of trickery.

'Which door? You're the witch.'

'That doesn't mean I can see through walls,' Katarina spat. She slouched nonchalantly against the wall, hands on hips. Nevertheless she pointed casually at the left door.

'You better be right,' Malaki snarled, hefting his sword. As he entered the room beyond, Katarina's sperical light splashing its rainbow hues around the walls, the knight froze in fear. Materialising from the shadows was a pair of monstrous, cyclopean beasts. They were green-skinned and mace-tailed, and huge, double-handed axes were clutched in grimy claws. One of the beasts roared bestially at Malaki's approach. The sound was terrifying. Even changed as he was, Malaki could feel the cold claws of fear grip his heart. Katarina, however, strode with disdain past him towards the creatures.

'The Fimir scare you, Malaki?' She sneered. 'You should spend a century in the Chaos Wastes. There are things there that would turn your blood to water.' She began to chant the words to a spell. Confused, the Fimir regarded her with their single eyes. The air seemed to thicken, and grow heavy. Dark energy coalesced around one of the Fimir. Suddenly, it shot into its head, sending it reeling in agony. A roar of pain tore through the air, and seconds later the beast's axe crashed through its fellow's hide as it turned against it. Blood spewed from the Fimir's body, and Katarina stood by and giggled as the monstrous warriors engaged in battle against themselves. Sparks flew as their battleaxes clashed. Malaki blinked, overcoming his fear as his opponents fought. This was good stuff…

With a spray of gore, the offending Fimir tore off its foe's head. The corpse collapsed in a pool of spreading blood, and Katarina stepped backwards, keeping her robes away from the filth. But before the monster could turn its attentions onto her, she whispered a few words and the Fimir turned its axe against itself.

After watching the unfortunate Fimir swinging its axe unsuccessfully at itself, Malaki had had enough.

'This is ridiculous,' he grunted, striding towards the humiliated Fimir. In one blow, he brought it down, severing the Fimir's torso and spilling it to the ground.

'Look, a cupboard,' the priestess said, pointing. She wandered past the blood and gore to where a rickety wooden cupboard stood against one wall. Opening it, she unleashed a jet of flame that burned her, setting her robe on fire. Screaming, she backed off, shrieking words of power. In a few moments, the flames were extinguished, but her smoking robe was in tatters. Her skin was blackened where the flames had scorched her. Shocked, Malaki rummaged in his pack and pulled out the bottle of blue liquid.

As he passed the potion to her, the knight trying to keep his gaze from her body, their eyes met. There seemed to be a light in Katarina's eyes. Malaki broke eye contact and turned away.

'It'll heal you.'

'Thank you, Malaki. It seems we're now equal. Oh and guess what?' She held up something which glittered. It was a rusty key.

Beyond the locked doorway, a series of corridors spread out into the blackness. They were not as narrow as before, but still an aura of gloom and dread surrounded them. The ceiling was low, and Malaki could almost feel it brushing against his bat-crested helmet as he walked. The two of them walked side by side, having reached an understanding of sorts. There was a companionable silence. Then, inevitable, the traps began again.

At first it was simple spear traps, launching from the walls. They were not too hard to evade. But then a flagstone beneath Katarina's boot triggered a swinging pendulum trap. It swung up and down the corridor, meaning they had to duck whilst walking, slowing their progress. Malaki didn't get past unscathed; the large crescent blade sliced across his shoulder as he rose to move away. The lightning bolt traps were the worst. Timing or dodging to one side couldn't be used, as they had no warning whatsoever. Malaki was thrown from his feet by a burst of electrical power, the lightning dancing across his armour. Lying there injured and groaning, he felt as if he could go no further.

'I think I'll need that potion back,' he moaned.

And then, when Katarina was casting a spell, something terrible came to pass.

Channelling too much power, azure lightning began to flicker from the priestess' hands. It streaked upwards, and she threw her head back, screaming in pain. Malaki backed off, confused and disturbed. Strange syllables and verses erupted from her throat, in a voice not her own. Her eyes flashed with power. A storm of chaos surrounded them, ghostly spirits swirling in circles and sneering in voices both amusing and disturbing. Katarina rose into the air, her arms outstretched. She looked down at Malaki, and her eyes glittered evilly. Issuing a banshee-like cry, she swept down upon him. In an instant Malaki knew this was not her.

'Oh no you don't, wench,' he snarled. As the priestess reached him, her lips peeled back as if to sink her teeth into him, he grabbed her arms and pulled them down. Then in one swift motion, he fastened his mouth over hers and kissed her.

There was an especially violent burst of thunder and the daemonic light faded from Katarina's eyes. Shocked to find herself joined to Malaki, at the lips, she tore herself away and slapped the knight across the face. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

'What in the name of Tzeentch were you thinking?'

Malaki smiled sinisterly.

'I think you already know the answer to that, Katarina.' He breathed in the scent of her perfume. 'Yeah.'

'You…' Katarina stared at him in disgust. She felt something wet leak from her nostril and drip onto her upper lip. Reaching up, she touched it and knew it was blood.

'The side effects of using magic must be…varied,' the knight jeered.

'Defeat me in battle and we'll let you pass,' the Norscan Marauder said calmly. 'This is the only way into the lost city of Inhutec.'

'I guess there is no other way out,' Malaki reasoned. He stood leaning casually on Fellblade. 'What is this…Inhutec?'

'Is that a yes, warrior?'

'Yes, that's a yes.' With a flash, the daemonblade rose and smashed the Norscan's axe from his hand. In seconds Fellblade's edge was against his throat. The man swallowed, shocked at such a quick fight.

'You are worthy of the gods' attentions,' he gulped. 'The password to the gateway is Darkmoon.'

'Thank you, Norscan. And now we'll be on our way.'

'Wait!' Katarina slitted her eyes. She had travelled much across the Chaos Wastes, and encountered many different tribes and cultures. She of all people knew there was benefit to be gained by trading. 'Do you have anything to trade?'

'Trade?' The Norscan regained his composure and exchanged glances with his companion. 'Well, we do have one thing.'

'The toolkit should come in handy,' Katarina explained as she and Malaki strode confidently down the wide, recently-cobbled passageway towards the gateway.

'I'm sure it will,' Malaki grunted, his mind once again on the lightning bolt traps. 'Damnable traps…'

Ahead of them a vast archway reared. It was protected by a partially transparent mist. Beyond they could see a number of indistinct, dark shapes that suggested the presence of warriors guarding a final portal into the lost city.

'The password,' Katarina snapped. She stood to her full height, and Malaki was made aware of the numerous rips and tears in her robe, revealing her skin. 'Malaki, the password.'

'Uh yes, the password. What was it?'

'Dolt,' Katarina sighed, rolling her eyes.

'Uh yes, Darkmoon.' Malaki opened his arms wide in a theatrical gesture.

There was a brief flash of white light, as if it were a mere flaw in reality correcting itself. Four Chaos Warriors, clad in ornate, heavy armour, stood in front of a huge, wooden trapdoor. One of them seemed to be only partially there, his form flickering and changing to match the background behind him. In a gallery above, two goblin archers took a bead on the companions.

'Impressive that you made it this far,' one of the warriors intoned. 'Now you must defeat us all to win the right to the lost city.'

'Not a problem.'

'Overconfidence is a flaw, Malaki,' Katarina warned. The knight winked at her.

'Don't worry.' Malaki rushed into battle, roaring wordlessly with leonine fury.

Three of the warriors went down, but they were tough and skilled. Malaki had to use all his strength and brutality to bring them down. Fellblade aided him greatly: without it he would never have succeeded, and he knew it. The last warrior was another story. He kept moving around, making him almost impossible to detect and hit.

'I knew I'd seen this ability somewhere before,' Malaki growled as he swung at thin air. 'Stand still, damn you!'

'He's invisible,' Katarina stated. She fired a bolt of red fire up at the Night Goblin archers, incinerating one.

'I can see that, woman,' Malaki roared. He backed up in the corner. This way at least the invisible foe could only come at him from two sides. 'Come here, bloody invisible bastard!'

There was a jarring impact on his left pauldron. Instinctively, he lashed out, and was delighted to see red blood splashing on the flagstones. Seeing the leaking wound, he leapt forth and plunged the daemonblade into the warrior's chest. Blood erupted and spattered over Malaki like a geyser, and he opened his mouth to take his fill. Feeling over the corpse, he pushed it the ground and sank his fangs into the throat, drinking and quenching his bloody thirst.

Katarina blasted the second night goblin as an arrow sank into her side, reducing the creature to a living torch. It shrieked as it died.

'Malaki,' she gasped, collapsing to the floor.

The knight wiped his mouth and rushed to Katarina's aid. Strange, he thought, he would never believe he was doing this. It was as if Magnus and Morgan, though corrupted by Chaos, were once again shining through. Gently, he took hold of her.

'This might hurt a bit.'

'Do it, it could be poisoned.' Katarina gritted her teeth. Quickly, Malaki pushed the arrowhead through, wincing as she screamed in pain. Then he snapped it off and yanked out the shaft, trying to ignore her screams. 'The healing potion!'

'Of course,' he replied, pulling out the bottle and pouring some of the blue liquid on her body. Steaming, the mixture sank into her wound. She screamed, agony lancing through her as if a sword had been thrust into her. A few moments later, the skin healed over, clean and unblemished.

'Malaki. There's more to you than meets the eye.' Katarina grinned. Malaki looked down at the woman in his arms. As if suffering a bout of common sense, he let go of her and looked away, securing the bottle in his pack.

'Uh…yes, well, now you're healed up, let's get out of here.' He seized the iron ring on the trapdoor and started heaving it up.

Katarina watched him for a moment before moving to help him. This was the beginning of something very different…

5


	8. Chapter 8: Inhutec

C8 INHUTEC

_Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

VIII

INHUTEC

Malaki and Katarina stood in front of a large, wooden door. Above the lintel was written something in the Dark Tongue.

'Can you read it?' Malaki asked Katarina hesitantly.

'It says welcome to the city of Inhutec,' she replied, frowning. 'The city of Inhutec was rumoured to be lost for centuries…after it was overrun by the forces of the Blood God. I think we've found the entrance to the lost city.'

'It seems our quest is in vain without Merideon,' the knight murmured. 'But we have no choice but to go forward. We can't go back.'

'No, we cannot,' Katarina agreed. She moved to push against the door. Etched into the wall beside the door was a glyph of a man. He was holding a book. 'Wait…is this significant?'

'It is!' Realization dawned in Malaki's eyes. 'It's the symbol of the book Merideon's after. Hopefully he'll show up soon so as to not get left behind.'

As if on cue, there was a rumbling crash and a section of the wall exploded outwards in a shower of rock and dust. Standing there, partially dazed, was Lord Merideon.

'Well well,' the noble raised his eyebrow. 'Glad I found you.'

'And where the hell did you go?' Malaki was fuming.

'Uh, well, I thought I saw Gabrielle…'

'Here, in this hell? Give me a break.' Malaki turned away in disgust.

'It's the truth, knight,' Merideon snarled. Turning to the wall, he saw the glyph. 'At least we're going in the right direction.'

'Men,' Katarina sighed, and the knight glanced at her disgustedly.

The trio entered a vast, open chamber. Pillars soared up into the blackness above on all sides, and huge, giant fire pits socketed on the walls lit the room with a fiery glow. Weapon racks and armour stands stood against one wall, and a huge stone statue dominated a large dais in the centre.

'Ah, newcomers,' a loud voice bellowed. Merideon watched as a well-built Norscan clad in a bearskin cloak approached them. He was armed with a massive sword and flanked by two equally barrel-chested men. 'I am Kevlon. Welcome to the entrance of Inhutec!'

'What…is this place?' Merideon glanced in wonder at this subterranean settlement. He could see openings and archways leading off the main chamber. The sounds of feasting and drinking echoed through the halls, as well as a more subtle titter that could be supposed was that of…entertaining women.

The Norscans had done well.

'We created this place as an island that is the sea of the Chaos Wastes,' Kevlon explained. 'Here we are safe from the monstrous things that roam the plains above, and any travellers can restock on supplies or equipment, for a price, of course.' The barbarian grinned warmly, revealing an impressive set of wolf-like fangs.

'You have a nice establishment here,' Merideon drawled. 'We'll spend some time here. But, I must ask, you say this is the entrance to the city?' He didn't want to really give away too much information about their quest. Malaki and Katarina exchanged a nervous glance. It was probably better to leave the smooth talking to the duellist. It was his mission, after all.

'Indeed, this is only the entrance to Inhutec. Yonder,' Kevlon pointed towards the far side of the chamber, 'there are the main doors. But be warned: pass there and you enter the ruined city. I have lost many men whilst exploring its depths.'

'We thank you for your counsel,' Merideon replied.

'Please, enjoy the pleasures we have on offer,' Kevlon said, bowing his head.

As the trio gathered in a corner to discuss what supplies they needed, Merideon couldn't help making an observation.

'This is the best service I've had in a good while.'

Malaki lay back, enjoying the attention of the young, brunette girl massaging the front of his body. It felt so good, after months and months of no female contact. Well, that snog with Katarina didn't count. She was very attractive, but too…headstrong, too independent. He wasn't sure he should pursue her further. Although if any opportunities revealed themselves, who could blame him if he took advantage? He deserved better than this, footslogging across alien terrain in a hostile environment. Part of him wished he was back in the Empire, and he hadn't been corrupted by Chaos. Things would've been so much simpler there. Trying not to think about his near future, he closed his eyes and relaxed on his bed of velvet cushions.

'Yes,' he told the girl. 'Yes, like that. That's good, yes, keep doing that.'

She smiled back at him.

Soon the Red Wolves bade farewell to Kevlon and his small community and passed through the great doors into the ruined city. They could see the streets and boulevards stretching out before them, dilapidated and abandoned. Blocks of stone littered the ground, mouldering skeletons lay by the street sides and discarded and rusting weapons adorned the cobbles. Not one building was intact, and many of them were little more than piles of rubble. It was difficult to judge the architecture due to the extensive damage. However, it did look like the city was ancient, possibly from the time of Sigmar. As they wandered amidst the wreckage of eons, Katarina glanced left and right, taking in the devastation.

'What…happened here?' Katarina mused. She stooped to pick up a grinning skull. 'Who were these people, and what catastrophe befell them?'

'Who cares?' Merideon sneered, dashing the skull out of her hands. 'Let's get through this mess and find Kharon's next mark.' He strode off nonchalantly.

'He can be an ass sometimes,' Malaki rumbled, staring after the duellist. 'Come on.'

The darkness lay like a shroud upon Inhutec. The silence was horrid, every skull and collection of smashed bones highlighting the horror and evil that was visited upon the city's unfortunate inhabitants. It was downright depressing.

When they approached a wide, boulder-strewn courtyard, Malaki pointed.

'Look, there by the dais.'

A number of hunched, brutish-looking figures were clustered around something they couldn't see. The monsters were clearly orcs, wearing a mixture of leather and cloth rags and carrying curved scimitars.

'Ah ha,' Merideon breathed, 'about time for my rapier to drink!' Without another thought, he rushed forwards.

'Lad, wait,' Malaki hissed, his fangs protruding. When the man ignored him, the knight sighed. 'It could be a trap, fool.'

'Let us see for ourselves, then,' Katarina replied, readying her magic.

As the noble ran towards the orcs, blade singing at the closest orc's back, the greenskinned turned, as one, and threw a large, web-like net over the man. Laughing cruelly, they smashed the struggling duellist over the back of the head with a sword-hilt and began dragging him away.

'No! Merideon!' Malaki unsheathed Fellblade and picked up his pace. 'Time to die, orc filth!'

But he was too late. Sniggering, the orcs stood around their captive in a tight circle. Malaki saw one of the orcs reach out and press something on the wall beside it. With the grinding of unseen gears, the small group sank into the ground.

'No! Not again!' The knight roared bestially, throwing his sword. It spun, end over end, until it struck point first into the wall where the orcs had been. But the grinding continued, fading as the stone platform descended into darkness. Yanking his sword free with a burst of sparks, Malaki stared down the black, bottomless shaft. It had to lead somewhere. But before he could do anything stupid, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

'No, Malaki. You jump down there, you'll die. No one could survive that fall.' Katarina turned him around and gazed firmly into his eyes.

'I guess,' he grunted in response. 'Come on then, there must be another way through these ruins.'

As they passed through a series of rooms resembling burnt out husks, Malaki's senses detected a slight rustling and scampering in the shadows. Dismissing it, he glanced at Katarina. She didn't seem to have heard them. Her face looked different in the half light. He wasn't sure he liked it as much as he had before. No matter, there would be other women. His thoughts turned, once again, to Merideon. It was happening again. Before, when he had thought he was the last member of the Red Wolves, he had tried to accept the fact that he was alone. Now, he had to try again. This time he had Katarina, but it wasn't the same. He did not share the same strong bond as he had with the others. The others had been with the Red Wolves since the beginning. He frowned as he trudged along.

A sudden rustling alerted him from his reflections and this time he hadn't imagined it. Surrounding them on all sides, were man-sized shadows, wielding a variety of dagger-like weapons. They were swathed in black, but their eyes glinted red. There was a stench of unwashed fur about them, a stench that reeked of vermin.

'Skaven!' Malaki bellowed. 'Get down!' He flung himself at Katarina as numerous throwing knives and stars whizzed overhead. There were a number of agonised shrieks as the skavens' weapons struck some of their own. Landing with a crash on the stone floor, the knight hoped he hadn't broken the priestess' body. Then the acrid tang of magic seared the air. There was a moment of silence and then blue lightning arched across the room, electrifying the rat-men. They died in droves, some of them fleeing in terror of the priestess's magic. Katarina's eyes glowed white, her hair stood on end and her arms were outstretched. To the knight she looked positively menacing. In minutes it was over, and the change that overcame her was startling. One moment she was a terrifying, banshee-like apparition, the next she had returned to her normal self. Suddenly, exhausted from using her power, she collapsed. Before she hit the ground, Malaki had struggled to his feet and caught her.

'That was…awesome,' he breathed.

'It wasn't too hard. It was…taxing.'

On the wall near the door, they saw a familiar glyph depicting a man holding a book. As they passed through the door, into a rocky tunnel, they gazed in wonder at the intense beam of bright sunlight shining down from a hole in the roof. Sand had spilled in from outside. Up above was nothing but bright blue sky and automatically they felt the rise in temperate.

'Where the hell…' Malaki began.

'We've passed through Inhutec,' Katarina said. 'Where to next?'

'Wherever that leads.' The knight strode forwards, his gaze locked on an imposing archway. On its lintel was written a series of mysterious, ancient hieroglyphs. For some unfathomable reason, it looked to him like the portal into a tomb. 'Merideon, get your arse down here right away.'

4


	9. Chapter 9: Tomb

_Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

IX

TOMB

The two comrades stood considering the giant, stone slab covered in ancient hieroglyphs. There was the musty odour of decay in the air. The walls to the left and right were covered in strange pictures of various battles against demons and monsters. The ceiling was relatively low and the architecture reminded Katarina of an ancient land of windswept deserts and soaring pyramids: Khemri.

'Wait.' Katarina sighed. 'I want to get outside.' A slight breeze stirred the strands of her hair. 'Out!' She turned and headed back to the hole in the ceiling. With the low ceiling it wouldn't be too much of a problem to escape the dank confines of the passage.

'I agree,' Malaki grunted. He looked up at the hole. 'I can help you up.' He removed his gauntlet and pawed at his face. It would be good to get out of the oppressive darkness, to feel the wind on his face and to breathe good air instead of the stagnant atmosphere of the ruined city. He moved to stand under the hole spilling sunlight like liquid gold into the corridor. The blue sky above was so inviting. How long had it been, he thought, since they had seen its like? A week? A month? It was hard to tell.

Katarina automatically scrambled up him, using him like a human ladder, her boots scraping on his armour. Reaching up she hauled herself up through the hole and disappeared from sight. For a moment there was silence.

'Katarina?' No response. 'Damn it wench, where are you?'

There was a scream of delight and relief and Malaki could slightly see a flurry of blue robes. No doubt Katarina was stretching her limbs, relieved to be free of the dungeon depths, at least for a time.

'Katarina!' He bellowed. The sorceress's face appeared and she smiled slightly down at him. Malaki grimaced back and, pulling out a length of sturdy rope, hurled it up at her. 'Tie this to something so I can get out.' Katarina complied, disappearing again. Then he heard her voice.

'It's a desert. There's nothing to tie it onto.'

'Then for Sigmar's sake hold onto it and pull!'

'I'm not that strong!'

'Well I would've thought you were, with that huge sword that weighs as much as yourself!'

'Clearly you are mistaken,' Katarina sneered. Her face appeared again, looking down at him. 'Look, we'll have to find another way for you to get out.'

'Find a bloody log or something and throw it down here. I'll be just back along the passage, maybe I can find a big rock or something to stand on.'

Malaki sauntered back towards the ruins. Having a wizard with the Red Wolves was useful, but not when she didn't know any spells that involved levitation. After about half an hour or so he managed to pile several small boulders and random pieces of debris. Hoping it would last long enough for him to get a hold of the ceiling edge; he stepped up onto it gingerly. A few small rocks split off but the rock pile held. Here goes nothing, he thought, shouldering his pack. Gritting his teeth, he launched himself upwards. Jumping as high as he could, he slammed into the edge of the hole, his armour digging into him. Unceremoniously, he dragged himself clear, every muscle screaming as he heaved his weight out of the passage. Finally out, he found himself stumbling and rolling down a small dune, scattering sand until he came to a halt. He let out a heavy sigh. Bloody hell, he thought. One hole in a low ceiling and such a job to get out. A grappling hook would've been nice.

For a few minutes he lay there, sprawled in the bright sunlight. The zephyr washed over him. By Sigmar that felt good. He pulled off his helmet and pushed his pack away from him. Twisting his head he could just see Katarina wandering around aimlessly. Closing his eyes, he gave another sigh and got comfortable in the sand. Sleep came quickly: it was long overdue.

When he woke there was a small campfire blazing nearby, its dancing flames a shade of icy blue. Katarina sat watching over him, her eyes slitted.

'You awake?' She said absently.

'Yeah,' he replied, sitting up and running a hand through his sweaty hair. 'You good?'

'I am. I hunted around a bit and found some meat.' She offered him a hunk of what looked like a well-cooked steak. 'It's pork.' She broke eye contact. 'Well, to an extent.'

'Don't care,' Malaki grunted, snatching the food. He wolfed it down, eyeing and consequently ravaging the remnants of the meat Katarina shoved towards him.

Then he noticed the other men around the campfire, regarding him with curious eyes.

'Who are you and what are you doing here?' He narrowed his own eyes, appraising the three seated men. One of them was Merideon, battered, scarred but alive. His usual sneer was fixed on his face which had been tattooed with a crude, orc glyph. The second man was well-built and had a long, sweeping moustache. Two curling, ram's horns erupted from his skull, clearly the evidence of mutation gained from venturing into the Wastes. His hair was tied back in a Kislevite topknot, and he was clad in rough leathers and furs. He turned a naked sword over in weather-beaten hands. The third man, like Merideon, had a sharp, aristocratic look about his pale face, which stared out from the folds of a deep hood. His eyes glinted strangely and his body was cloaked in black. A crossbelt ran over his chest.

'This is Gregore Kaulsson,' Merideon gestured his dagger, and 'Raphael Del Sorell.' He returned his dagger to cutting another hunk of bread. 'I was able to make a dashing escape using my ring of Time Freezing. With these fellows' help,' he grudgingly admitted. 'We killed the orcs. All of them.'

'Nicely done,' Malaki rumbled. 'A Kislevite?' He asked Gregore.

'Indeed, knight,' the man responded. 'As I have told your friends, I seek vengeance for my family.'

'And I,' Raphael said softly, 'am an assassin. Although I have my own mission, my skills will greatly aid your venture. Or rather, Merideon's.'

'You've filled them in, then.' Malaki raised an eyebrow. 'Good work lad, couldn't be bothered much myself. He pulled his fur cloak tighter around himself. 'Well, then, I guess we're all set to enter the tomb at dawn?'

'It is the way forward,' Merideon agreed, looking from each face in turn. 'Together, friends, we shall beat Kharon and claim his spell book.'

As the companions made their way back up the dune, a rumble of thunder sounded behind them. Within seconds the previous blue sky had turned midnight blue and white bolts of lightning flashed down from the heavens. Great fat droplets of rain started pelting down, soaking the sand and turning the ground into horrible, squelching mush.

'Back to the tomb!' Katarina shouted, her voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the storm. The others didn't reply but continued stampeding after her. Gregore slipped and fell but Malaki grabbed his arm and dragged him upright. The storm increased in intensity, the wind howling like a thousand wailing souls. Suddenly there was a loud clap of thunder and a blast of blue lightning struck the top of the dune, like a jagged sword. It hit Katarina full on, enveloping her in a massive corona of white light. The men staggered back, partially blinded by the blast, hearing the sorceress's scream rising above the crashing thunder.

'Katarina!' Malaki found himself yelling, but could barely hear his own voice. There was a huge flash of azure tentacles and for a moment every man could see a horrific vision of chaos. The land around was wasted and bare save for gigantic, writhing tendrils, complete with suckers, waving at a dark blue, star-studded sky. Malignant, golden eyes stared down from the heavens, and an evil laugh filled the air. Then everyone was pitched onto their backs in the sand and the vision was gone. The flash of white receded along with the storm. In seconds all that was left was a whispering wind. Merideon was the closest to Katarina. Picking himself up, he rushed up the dune and stared at her body. A horrid sight met his eyes.

Katarina was splitting into two separate beings. With a vile, pulsating motion, like a cell dividing, and with a translucent, blue slime covering everything, the two women split apart, making a sickening slurping sound. Merideon flinched as he was spattered with bluish fluid.

'What in hell…'

The others gathered around, staring in both delight and horror at the unnatural birth. One of the women stood, slowly, slicking her hair back and picking up her shield. She checked her scabbarded sword. At first she was silent, staring back at them like an unblinking reptile.

'I am leaving you now,' she hissed, her eyes flashing with a magical light. 'Tzeentch beckons…'

'But…' Malaki began.

'Hush,' Katarina interrupted. 'The Great Sorcerer has other plans for me.' She paused, her eyes distant. 'Yes, great plans…' Then she pointed at the other Katarina, who was slowly getting to her feet and wrapping her arms around herself. 'That one will go with you, maybe.'

'But the book?' Merideon frowned. 'We need your help…'

'Enough!' Katarina snarled, her eyes hard and cold like chips of ice. It was then that the men noticed a visible aura of power about her. Without another word she turned and walked away. Soon she was lost to sight on the horizon.

For a moment the remaining Red Wolves contemplated the wet thing Katarina had left behind. It, she, glanced around and looked up at Malaki.

'What…what happened?' She seemed scared, confused. 'Where is this?'

'You are Katarina,' the knight said gruffly. 'Do you…remember anything?'

'I have…memories,' Katarina said weakly. She pointed at the men in turn, spelling out their names and reeling off brief facts about their histories. Merideon frowned: this could be no doppelganger. It was the real Katarina. Or was it? Malaki reached forwards and put his hand on her shoulder.

'Come with us,' he said gently. 'You have skills. We need you, and you need us. Right, Merideon?' He glanced meaningfully at the noble.

'Correct,' Merideon mused, nodding his head ever so slightly. 'Peasant though you may be, your magic is…well powerful.'

'Right, what are we waiting for?' Malaki grinned. 'Riches and glory await!'

'You have to choose the right symbol to press to open the doorway,' Gregore said hesitantly, examining the hieroglyphs.

'Right, so try one,' Malaki grunted. When Gregore did not, he reached forwards.

'No, stop!' The Kossar grabbed Malaki's gauntlet inches from the stone slab. 'If you pick the wrong one something dire may happen.'

'Like what? Spear trap or something? Give me a break. My armour will protect me.' Shrugging off Gregore's hand, Malaki pressed one of the hieroglyphs. Gregore shrank back in horror, shaking his head slightly. Suddenly, a curved steel blade swung down from the ceiling, slicing through Malaki's pauldron. He cursed richly, staggering back and clutching at his wound. The blade then retracted.

'Don't you dare say I told you so,' he snarled.

'Which one could it be?' Katarina wailed. 'There are at least a hundred.'

'Let me see.' Raphael pushed past the others and strode up to the doorway, scrutinising the hieroglyphs. He recognised some of them, from the lore he had studied when researching the undead during his free time when he was in the Stirland army. 'This one,' he pointed. 'It means Eternal Life. If we go by these wall scribblings,' he indicated the ancient murals, 'it looks like this is a tomb. And the tombs of Khemri were constructed to prepare the dead for the afterlife.'

There were no objections, so Gregore, taking a deep breath, pressed the Ankh. Immediately he flinched and made to duck, expecting the blade to slam into him. Instead he heard the tell-tale grinding of stone on stone and the slab began to sink into the floor, revealing a brazier-lit corridor.

'After you,' he told Merideon, gesturing through the doorway. As Merideon was carrying the lantern, it was logical for him to take the lead. And this was his quest. Yet as he stepped over the threshold he felt a distinct chill run up his spine. The corridor, hellish and eerie, and empty, ran away from him into the darkness. The flagstones, though old, were neatly positioned and free from rubble or debris. The corridor seemed to emanate a cold fear that filled every man's heart, regardless of its simple appearance. It's an empty passage, Merideon told himself. Get in there. Forcing himself to move, he stepped lightly into the corridor, the lantern swinging gently and adding its reassuring glow to that of the braziers. Looking up at the walls, he could see that they were coated in a thin layer of gold leaf. Gemstones lined the panels, glinting like tiny eyes, as if the tomb itself was watching them.

'Look, men! It's ours!' The duellist raised his blade arm and started prising a large ruby from the wall. 'Open your pack, man,' he spat at Gregore, before throwing the gem into the kossar's bag and turning back to the wall. Suddenly the others exploded into eager action, scrabbling at the walls for the gold and jewels. Spilling further into the corridor, they didn't notice where they were standing.

Without warning a flagstone crumbled beneath Merideon's boot, sending him tumbling off balance. With a gasp and a spray of rubble he fell and before he knew it he was hanging onto the edge of a deep pit. Twisting his head around he could see that it was square and quite deep, but he could see the bottom.

'Close one,' he sighed. 'Someone get me out of here! Peasant scum! Help me up!' There was a scrabble followed by a scream and he saw Katarina's blue robe flash by him.

'Katarina, no!' Malaki's booming voice echoed in the passage, bouncing off the walls. There was a sickening crack as something hit the bottom of the nearby pit.

'Good one, idiot,' Merideon said acidly. 'Now what? The wench has fallen in? Get me out first!' He heard the knight grunting and cursing again. He detected slight movements as the shadows in the corridor moved. 'Hurry up will you?'

'Grab this,' came the voice of Malaki and then a rope came tumbling down past Merideon. The knight's face loomed above him. 'Grab the rope, we'll pull you out.'

It didn't take long for the three men to haul their leader from the pit trap. Breathing heavily, Merideon brushed off his clothes and turned to see another identical pit adjacent to his pit. Edging closer, he called down to Katarina.

'Get up, wench! If you want to be rescued!'

'Out of the way,' Raphael snarled, pushing past and leaping over the pit. In one bound he cleared it, cloak rippling, to land safely on the other side. 'Throw me the rope. I can use my…superior strength to pull her up on this side.'

'What superior…' Malaki began but the assassin cut him off.

'Just do it, human!'

Malaki grunted, annoyed, but complied, hurling the rope across. Before long Raphael had it uncoiled and trailing down into the pit trap. He tied the other end to one of the wall brackets and then seized the rope to get some slack. Katarina, grimacing in pain, grabbed the rope and tugged it hard. Raphael braced himself and set his jaw.

'Ready.'

The other three men watched in silent admiration as the assassin heaved the woman out of the pit. Struggling up, she stumbled out and flexed her muscles, a shimmer of blue washing over her body.

'Thank you,' she told Raphael and turned to the men. 'Now, get over here! It's not far.'

Without too much trouble the men leapt the pit traps, relieved to have got across without another mishap. Ahead they could see the glint of giant, golden doors. Merideon, clearly impatient, stormed towards them. Luckily no other traps activated as his boots hit the flagstones. The others hastily followed, loosening their blades in their scabbards.

As the doors swung inwards, emitting a groan like that of a dying dragon, the companions entered a wide, spacious room. The walls were gloriously adorned with magnificent depictions of the reign of an ancient king. The pictures were faded but still retained a lot of their original colour. There were horned warriors, snake creatures and animal-headed gods carrying artefacts. There were also huge pyramids and temples in which slaves worshiped their gods. In a corner of the room sat two battered crates. On either side of the far door stood two skeletal warriors, bronze weapons and large shields clutched in their bony grip.

'Ah,' Merideon mused, ignoring the skeletons and advancing on the crates.

The tomb skeletons began to move. Slowly, a green witchfire entered their hollow eye sockets and the weapons rose. With a creaking rattle, the monstrous guardians attacked.

'Merideon!' Malaki roared, unsheathing Fellblade with a metallic hiss. The duellist turned and pulled out his pistol. As Raphael, Malaki and Gregore spread out he pointed the weapon at the skeleton's head and fired. There was an explosion of splintered bone and the corpse collapsed to the floor. Fellblade sliced cleanly through the other warrior as its weapon descended towards Merideon. Bones scattered across the flagstones.

'Well that wasn't much of a fight,' Gregore spat.

There came a rumbling of stone and the far door opened. Shadows flickered and then, a short distance down the passage, a small legion of skeletons emerged. They all carried bronze khopeshes and large, wooden shields edged in bronze.

'Spoke too soon,' Raphael chuckled, twirling his sword. 'Ah, this will be good.'

Merideon ransacked the crates, finding a couple of vials of lamp oil while the others prepared to hold off the undead. With the doorway between them, the skeletons would be at a major disadvantage.

'Stand aside!' Katarina shouted, her fists burning with glowing pink power.

'What?' Malaki guffawed, 'insane. The enemy is upon us!'

'Get out my way!' And then a blast of pink fire hurtled towards the door. Malaki cursed and threw himself aside and then the fireball smashed into the advancing skeletons. Bones and dust erupted to clatter about the corridor. But more were coming, unheeding of their comrades' demise. Katarina slumped against the wall, trying to rejuvenate herself as Raphael and Malaki stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the doorway. Gregore fitted an arrow to his bowstring.

And then the undead reached the doorway and battle began. With a crash of steel and bronze the blades of the two men smashed through the defences of the skeletons. More skeletons strode into the doorway to be smashed apart. They were followed by another rank, and another. Gregore's arrows flew overhead, each one piercing a skull or impaling a skeletal warrior's spine to send its corpse falling into dust. Merideon stood behind his comrades, urging them on.

'Kill the bastards you peasant scum! Come on, crush them, don't let them get through! Kill them all!'

Hacking and slashing through the ranks of undead, Raphael and Malaki started advancing into the corridor, slicing through the ranks of the foe as easily as scythes through wheat. This was no challenge, no real threat. Gregore shouldered his bow and ran after the others, weaving back and forth to pick up fallen arrows. And then the last few skeletons were destroyed, leaving the way clear.

Making their way down the next corridor, the Red Wolves walked with caution. The air of fear clung to the place, every step a potential death trap. Gregore was the first to spot the strange vents in the walls.

'Careful,' Merideon reprimanded as the Kossar moved to take a closer look. Slowly, Gregore edged closer. The vents were bronze, and clearly something was launched out of them. They were small and narrow. Gregore didn't realise his boot had broken the line between one flagstone and the next until it was too late.

As the flagstone registered his weight a series of darts flew from the wall. Gregore lost his balance, throwing his arm out. Three darts stuck fast in his forearm and he cried out, reeling backwards.

'Damn traps,' he cursed, pulling the darts out. Quickly he ripped a strip from his cloak to bind his forearm to staunch the blood flow. As Merideon moved to take the lead again, Gregore looked up. 'Be careful. They are fast. Very fast.'

'I'll get past,' Merideon boasted, 'you watch me.' Nonchalantly the noble sauntered forwards, sticking out his chin and narrowing his eyes. He could see the vents, and knew where the darts would come out. Sidling up to them, he lowered himself so as to pass beneath the darts as they flew from the wall.

But as his boot made contact with the flagstone he slipped. Instinctively righting himself he gaped as darts emerged from the vents and flew towards his face. In the nick of time he threw up his arms to save himself and the darts stuck into him, some glancing off his armour. Cursing loudly, he threw himself past the dart traps. Behind him Raphael gave voice to a laugh.

'Foolish human.'

'You couldn't do better,' Merideon rasped.

'Watch me.' There was a flurry of black and the assassin leapt up the walls and around the dart traps. With a skittering noise of claws on stone, he descended again to stand proudly and defiantly at the end of the corridor.

'What the hell are you?'

'I am…'

'Vampire,' Gregore spat, disgustedly. 'I knew it. Why you didn't just tell me what you were doing in the orc chief's hut? We could've…bottled some blood up and taken it with us instead of wasting time.'

'I need fresh blood,' Raphael snarled. 'I am newly sired.'

'That's a handy trick you've got there though,' Malaki rumbled. 'Strength, speed and agility…'

'There is a price. You have the vampire fangs, and suffer the bloodlust, yet you know nothing of its true curse.'

'I take it that's a good thing,' Malaki replied. He raised his sword and angled it towards the dart vents. 'And now to deal with these bloody things.'

Fellblade smashed against the vents in turn, denting each of them closed. Nodding, satisfied at a job well done, he lead Gregore and Katarina past the useless traps. From inside the wall came the muffled clanking of darts unable to escape.

'There's nothing wrong with a good bit of brute force.'

Further into the tomb, past numerous downward sloping passageways and beyond rooms guarded by undead, the party continued their journey. It had been at least three hours since their entry into the tomb, by Merideon's guess and the noble began to wonder what the hell Kharon Baal had been thinking. The mark had definitely been carved into the wall outside the tomb, yet there was only one way forward: through the tomb. Kharon must've come this way himself, or else had one of his minions do it. Was claiming the book just one small section of a vast and elaborate scheme the chaos sorcerer was plotting? Was he forcing them to traverse the Tomb of Seth, facing undead warriors and deadly traps? Or was it all just a ruse to get them killed, one by one? But if Kharon wanted them all dead, he was sure he could've easily done it by now with an army of Chaos Warriors. Yes, he thought, Kharon was plotting something dire, and he wanted them alive.

'Stop,' Merideon commanded, holding up a hand to halt the small column of adventurers.

Before them a wide, gaping hole yawned in the corridor, stretching from wall to wall. It was not a pit as such; rather the floor had collapsed leaving nothing but a black abyss. Merideon couldn't see the bottom, even when he leaned down and shined the lantern into the depths. Behind him Malaki and Gregore craned their necks to get a glimpse of their current predicament. There was a flurry of black robes and Raphael, his claws digging into the wall, passed by. He paused over the pit, looking down, before scurrying quickly to the other side.

'Curses upon you, vampire,' Merideon snarled. 'Couldn't you just wait a bit until we figure out how to do this?'

'What is the point, human? Getting across is your problem, not mine.'

'You shut your mouth, blood-sucker.' Merideon turned to the rest of the men. 'Why is he with us?'

'What, besides the fact that he aided you in escaping the orcs,' said Gregore.

'We can use his skills as a vampire to get the book,' Malaki added.

'He may be a fiend, but there is strength in numbers,' Katarina whispered.

'Ok shut up will you, peasants, and tell me how we're getting across!'

On the other side Raphael inclined his head and grinned evilly.

After a short while discussing what course of action to take, it became clear that they couldn't come up with a solution. Although Katarina herself could cross by a simple Skywalk spell, she wanted to use another, more complicated one to create a bridge. This, however, would take time and use up energy. Merideon was impatient and the others could see he wanted to have a confrontation with the leering vampire. Malaki supported Katarina whilst Gregore was unsure about the fickle chaos magic. As their discussions turned sour and quickly devolved into heated argument, Malaki roared and lashed out at the wall. There was a splintering crash as shards of rock flew in all directions.

'Watch where you're swinging that thing,' Merideon yelled, flinching.

'We've got to get across somehow. Let's just chance the spell.'

'No,' Gregore urged. 'If it fails halfway across we're doomed.'

Meanwhile, Raphael had been inspecting the walls on the far side.

'Shut up you lot, I think I've found something,' he hissed, running his hand along a groove in one of the golden panels. There was a sharp click followed by a creak. Silently, the panel swung outward to reveal a shallow indentation in the wall. Inside, Raphael could see a small silver relic, in the shape of an Ankh. Without hesitation he removed it and slammed the panel closed.

'What is it?' Merideon shouted. 'What have you found?'

'It's an Ankh.' Raphael held up the glittering silver icon. 'A key perhaps?'

'Let me see that. Throw it over.'

'You have got to be joking,' Raphael scoffed. 'If it goes down there we won't get it back.'

'For the love of Gabrielle Glint,' Merideon snarled, 'I'm jumping.'

'Wait,' Katarina protested, but it was too late. Merideon dashed towards the edge and leapt.

There was a moment of absolute silence as the Red Wolves' leader threw himself into space. All eyes watched with a mix of awe, intrigue and terror. Time seemed to slow down as the noble covered a fair distance through the empty air.

It was not far enough.

His momentum failing, Merideon began to descend. With horror, he realised he wasn't going to make it. The other side was too far away. This was it: the end. But, but, he thought. This wasn't meant to happen. He was the hero of the story. He wasn't meant to die this way! This couldn't be happening! And yet it was. The events of the past few months flashed through his panicking mind: being transported to the Chaos Wastes, finding the first mark, traversing the wastes battling hideous monsters and facing deadly perils. If he was going to die, he wanted to die fighting, killing his enemies and taking them him into hell. This was the worst death imaginable. And yet, he thought, when death came, it didn't arrive at a time and place of his choosing. The rocky walls flashed past him and he knew death had come for him.

Closing his eyes, he thought of Gabrielle.

'May Sigmar bless your soul, sweet one.'

Flailing his arms wildly, he let out an anguished scream before rocketing downwards with terrifying speed.

As the corona of light from the lantern dangling from Merideon's belt receded, it dawned on the others that this was the last time they would see Merideon alive. Shocked, they stood on the brink, staring down into the abyss. Suddenly there was a horrible crunch accompanied by the ring of steel and the tinkle of smashing glass and then the light was gone.

Extinguished, Malaki thought grimly.

For a moment the three men and the woman froze, enveloped in oppressive darkness. Trap-laden the tomb was, a fellow adventurer's death in front of one's very eyes was a traumatizing experience. Raphael was the first to break the silence.

'Well, what do we do now? With him gone, do we continue for the book?'

Malaki looked up, his face dark with grief and rage.

'Shut your bleeding mouth, vampire bastard,' he bellowed, surprising himself with the amount of hate and venom in his voice. He removed his helmet and ran his hands through his hair. Breathing heavily, he glanced left and right, his eyes roving. 'One of us has just died. The least you could do is show a little respect!'

Raphael raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He stood back from the edge.

'Well, look who's emotionally involved. I'll leave you lot to make your own way across.' He turned and started striding down the passage, his cloak billowing.

'Like we need your help anyway,' Gregore snarled.

'Yeah, we don't need you to get out of this tomb. Get lost!' Katarina shrieked. At this Raphael turned, his black cloak like a shroud. He bared his fangs slightly.

'I must correct you there,' he chuckled, holding up the Ankh. 'You need me.'

There was another shocked silence.

'Damn you,' Malaki snarled. He swallowed his resentment. 'Wait there, you need us too. If you leave us behind you'll never leave the tomb.'

'True,' Raphael conceded, his face revealing no emotion whatsoever. 'Just hurry up and get over here.' He vanished into the shadows.

'Merideon,' Gregore said, pulling two silver schillings from his belt pouch. 'Here you go, for Ferryman. May Morr welcome you to his realm.'

'I suppose I should say something profound,' Malaki rumbled. He knelt, pulling a golden ring from his finger. 'Merideon…I know you can't hear me but…it's not going to be the same without you, lad. I can't believe I'm going to say this but…' He sighed. 'May Sigmar bless your soul.' Tossing the ring into the void, he got to his feet and turned back to his companions. 'Come on, let's get that spell working.'

The rest of the journey through the tomb was spent in near silence. No one talked unless absolutely necessary, their minds drifting back to the fallen duellist, Lord Merideon. Malaki was the only one who had known him that well, but by Sigmar's beard, it was a loss. Of the original Red Wolves, only he now remained. With Siareth slain by Skurdi, Skurdi slain by a troll, and Kurt slain by a Wargor, there was little hope now of returning to Aldenheim. He wondered about the small town they had left from, in the foothills of the Worlds Edge Mountains. It had probably been taken over by thugs and bandits. Maybe Empire men had come to bring it back under Imperial control. He found himself asking: did he really care? His place was here, protecting the new Katarina and carrying on the quest of Merideon, seeing it through. In his honour.

A huge set of golden, double doors blocked their way. It was obvious by the special markings around the doors that this led deeper into the tomb, probably into an inner sanctum. On each of the two doors was an Ankh indentation. Above the left was a symbol of a scythe, and an eight pointed star was painted above the right one. They had only one Ankh.

'Clearly, we must place the Ankh in one of these slots,' Raphael mused, bored. He moved to place it into the left slot, below the scythe.

'Wait,' Malaki grunted. He shone his light nearer: a crude section of wood with its end wrapped in oil-soaked rags lit up to serve as a torch. 'Place it in the other.' Raphael raised an eyebrow. After a pause, not breaking eye contact with Malaki, he placed it beneath the scythe. Immediately a metal blade scythed down from the ceiling. The trap barely missed the vampire and clanged noisily from Malaki's vambrace before retracing into the ceiling with a metallic hiss.

'Sigmar's sake,' Malaki spat, recoiling from the blow. He slammed Raphael up against the wall, snatching the Ankh from him. Glaring at the vampire, he turned and rammed the icon into the star slot.

With a heavy grinding of stone, dust falling from the roof, the golden doors swung inwards.

They were greeted by a darkened room. Many eyes glinted in the lamplight and they heard the eerie scuttling of many legs. The walls and ceiling were filthy with huge, nearly opaque cobwebs. To their horror a vast, black spider, its fangs dripping venom, materialised from the shadows. Rearing up, it was taller than an ogre and spread its limbs wide, resembling a vile and monstrous god.

Behind the gruesome thing lay a fallen obelisk covered in indentations of hieroglyphs with a closed doorway behind it.

'Now this,' Malaki snarled, 'is more like it.'

With an animalistic roar, the knight charged into battle.

Fellblade came free and the spider lunged downwards to meet its puny foe. The daemonic blade slashed through one of the beast's legs, spattering black blood across the floor. Another lashed out, knocking Malaki sprawling. As he struggled to his feet he rolled aside, another taloned leg smashing into the floor, cracking the flagstones in a spray of rubble. Fellblade cleaved through the air, severing the offending limb and the spider let out a shriek of pain. But then it was moving again, its limbs working in conjunction, throwing Malaki against the wall with massive strength. He dropped Fellblade, which clattered to the floor. But before the spider could close in for the kill he was already rolling forwards and picking up his weapon, ducking under spearing talons and slashing claws, hacking out wildly with the daemonic sword. Blood slopped and spewed from the spider's wounds.

While the knight was engaged in bloody battle, Katarina closed her eyes and whispered words of power. Slowly, energies coalesced around the companions, healing them. She had her back to the wall, avoiding the destructive forces clashing in the centre of the chamber.

Raphael danced around the edges of the combat, helping out where he could. His blade flickered like lightning, scoring light cuts on the tomb spider's hide. Although not serious injuries, they distracted the fiend occasionally, aiding Malaki in making deadly gashes and mutilations upon the spider's body. When it turned its attention to the vampire, Raphael leapt up the wall, fending off the beast's attacks. He bounced between the wall and spider's back, somersaulting and engaging in daring feats of agility, all the while slashing and slicing with his blade. Then before the spider could focus on him entirely, Fellblade would cut through another of its giant, segmented legs. Soon the ground beneath their boots was slippery with blood and gore.

Gregore slammed his back against the fallen obelisk, crouching down near the floor. His eyes on the spider, he huddled with fear, hoping he could avoid being caught in the midst of the combat. Blood and bits of chitinous spider hide were going everywhere and chunks of masonry were flying off the walls. Dust was coming down from the roof and Gregore was certain the whole chamber was going to collapse. With a start he remembered the Ankh he was clutching in sweaty hands. Making sure the horrific beast's eight eyes were turned elsewhere, he twisted about and started fumbling for the right indentation on the obelisk. It had to be here somewhere.

One by one the spider's limbs were lopped off, restricting its movement. Its fanged mandibles yawning, it shrieked its anger, unable to land a killing blow on either of its skilled opponents. One of Raphael's throwing knives slammed into one of its eyes, popping it like a grape. Finally, Fellblade struck the join behind its head. A fountain of gore and viscera erupted skywards and both men converged on the dying beast. Soaked in blood they hacked viciously at the flailing tomb spider, not ceasing until it was nothing but a pile of dead flesh sagging in a lake of crimson filth.

There was a pause before Malaki and Raphael bared their fangs and succumbed to the need to feed. Like a pair of monstrous humanoid wolves, they sank their teeth into the spider's corpse.

'It's the only blood they're going to get,' Katarina murmured, her eyes closed.

'Spare me the details,' Gregore grunted, his hands tracing the outline of the Ankh indentation. 'That's it, it's in,' he confirmed as he placed the Ankh. It glowed with an orange light and from behind the fallen obelisk came the familiar rumble of stone. 'Get to the doorway, we don't know how long it'll stay open!'

As Katarina followed the Kossar she snatched the Ankh from its slot. Such a pretty trinket was not to be left behind.

'Hurry up, the door is closing!'

Partially sated, their jaws dripping, Malaki and Raphael growled and dashed towards the doorway. The stone slab was already descending. The two men ducked beneath and then the doorway slammed shut with a deafening boom.

10


	10. Chapter 10: Sanctum

_Andy Lex BainKharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

X

SANCTUM

'You could've waited a little longer,' Raphael snarled, wiping his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. Malaki, breathing heavily, squatted down and closed his eyes.

'We didn't have time,' Gregore spat back. He glared furiously at Raphael. He almost wished the vampire had been crushed beneath the stone door. But he was kidding himself. He _did_ wish the vampire had been crushed beneath it.

There was an awkward silence as the four companions took in their surroundings. The chamber was strangely beautiful. Sand was scattered across the floor and the walls were decorated with more hieroglyphs. The ceiling above glittered with stars; diamonds against a backdrop of dark blue satin.

'Well,' Katarina began, 'where do we go now?'

'There,' Gregore pointed towards another doorway, flanked by tall, golden statues.

A few minutes later and they were standing inside another dusty passage. Malaki automatically made to walk forwards, but Gregore thrust out a hand and pushed him back.

'Wait, fool.'

'Don't tell me, more traps? I'm getting a little tired of this.'

Gregore rolled his eyes and rummaged around in his pack. Holding up a large sapphire, he drew his arm back.

'What are you doing?' Raphael snatched the gem from the Kossar.

'Give it back, blood-sucker.' Gregore whirled and slammed Raphael up against the wall. Before the vampire could pocket the stone it was wrenched roughly from his hand.

'But it's worth a fortune, human. That gem alone could buy you…'

'I don't care what it could buy me. What use is it if I'm dead?' Turning, Gregore hurled the sapphire down the corridor. They watched it bounce off the floor and then there was a burst of rubble and dust as a massive, metal spike erupted from the floor. The sapphire was sent skittering in another direction across another flagstone and this time nothing happened. Hitting the wall it came to rest on a third flagstone, only to get smashed aside again as another spike thrust upwards through the floor. 'As I thought,' Gregore mused. 'The spikes are below these squares,' he indicated. 'These others are trap-less.'

'You hope,' Raphael sneered.

Malaki glowered at the vampire before he and Katarina followed the Kossar diagonally down the passageway. Shrugging, Raphael tailed them. The humans had their uses. And when they outlasted their usefulness…

The vampire's mouth split into a sinister smile.

The passageway opened up into a great hall, lit by numerous wall torches. Gemstones lay strewn between the flagstones, twinkling in the torchlight. Their various colours were reflected on the walls. It was a large chamber, at least fifty feet across and a hundred feet long. At its end sat a massive, stone dais, reached by a small staircase and dominated by a stone throne. In the middle of the room, standing behind an impressive, oak table covered in an assortment of jugs, plates and goblets, was an intimidating, black statue. Resembling a humanoid jackal, it stared back at the adventurers with a blank, empty gaze.

It looked to Gregore like this was some type of ancient feasting hall. Once, the god-king may have eaten his meals here, watched over by his dark master. The emptiness was palpable; the silence terrifying. His contemplations were interrupted by the grating sound of daemonic steel being drawn.

'This is more like it,' Malaki roared, pointing his sword. 'Charge!' He thundered across the room, leaping onto the table in his enthusiasm. He had not, however, taken stability into account, and promptly slipped on a metal cup, causing him to crash noisily to the floor. Suddenly two points of red light flared in the Ushabti's eyes.

'Let us dance,' Raphael hissed, his fangs bared. He dashed forwards, skirting the table and brought his blade to the attack. Faster than he anticipated, the Ushabti blocked his weapon, producing a shower of sparks as the sword clanged on the haft of the giant blade.

Katarina moved to assist Malaki. Gregore circumvented the fighting and made his way towards the dais.

'You check out throne,' he said from the side of his mouth, his eyes never leaving the wall behind the dais. 'I'll search the wall.'

Flurries of slashes and jabs against the Ushabti's hide simply scratched its obsidian surface. His agile mind thinking with inhuman cunning, the vampire rolled beneath the foe's deadly blade and ran up the nearby wall. Twirling his sword, he smiled grimly before launching himself into the air.

'See if you can take this blow.' He made a dive towards the Ushabti. Turning, the construct was too late to realise what the assassin was doing. The last thing its artificial eyes registered was Raphael's sword plunging downwards like a harpoon into its obsidian skull.

The throne was huge, big enough for a fully armoured knight to relax in. Katarina allowed herself the pleasure to lower herself into the seat. Sitting back, she let out a sigh of contentment…which quickly transformed into a scream of pain as she heard a metallic click coming from below. Leaping up, she clutched at her bleeding posterior, staring in horror at the bed of steel spikes piercing the seat of the throne through small cracks she hadn't even noticed.

'Malaki,' she wailed, stumbling down the steps and virtually falling into the knight's arms.

'What twisted mind designed this death hole?' Malaki bellowed as he started ripping up his cloak to staunch the flow of blood.

The all-familiar grinding of stone on stone resonated around Gregore's skull as he pressed a small switch recessed in a crevice near the floor. Without looking back, he unhitched his axe and proceeded into the shadowy room beyond.

Raphael narrowed his eyes as he saw the secret door opening. Bounding up onto the dais, he vaulted over the throne. Leaving Katarina to recover safely on the floor of the hall, Malaki followed Raphael. It was terribly demoralising, this tomb. It seemed to be one big deathtrap. With Merideon and Kurt gone, and he the last surviving original member of the Red Wolves, he began to get nostalgic. Would they ever get out of this place? Where was Kharon's next mark? What manner of horrors awaited them beyond the next doorway? He looked back to where Katarina lay, bloodied but alive. It would be good to get back to proper civilization. But then he remembered his fangs, and the changes coming over his mind and body. He felt stronger than ever before, and yet he felt he was losing…his humanity. Katarina would be lucky to live through the quest. Her pride would never recover. Hardening his heart, he turned back towards the doorway.

With a curse, the knight tripped over a bone and tumbled head over heels down the steps.

'Shhh!' Gregore automatically reprimanded Malaki. He indicated a series of monstrous manikins. Eyes wide, Malaki glanced about the room. There was an orc warrior, a Skaven clanrat, a heavily armoured figure he took to be a Chaos Warrior and a giant, hideous rat ogre. All of them had been taxidermied, and posed to strike fear into intruders. All were obviously manikins, for they were still as statues, and remarkably preserved. He had to look twice to make sure they were dead. He was sure this was a trophy room, filled with creatures the god-king's armies had destroyed, by the look of the piled weapons and rusting shields.

'What are you worrying about,' he grunted, getting to his feet. 'They're all dead.' Sliding Fellblade back into his scabbard, he pushed the orc warrior. 'Look.'

Instantly the orc's sword arm sprang up into a raised position. Gasping in shock, the knight reeled back. The others turned, regarding Malaki with suspicion.

'What happened?' Gregore approached the orc. The orc didn't move.

'It…it moved. The sword…'

'I didn't see anything. Raphael?'

'Spooked, knight?' The vampire raised an eyebrow.

'Shut up. I swear…'

'You didn't wet yourself, did you?'

'I said shut your trap you bastard.' Malaki advanced on the vampire. While they were bickering, Gregore turned his attention to the Chaos Warrior. Its faceless, empty helm seemed to stare into his soul, as if there really was someone there inside the armour. But he knew it was empty. It had to be.

There was a scrape of metal as the sabaton shifted on the flagstone.

'There!' Gregore gestured with his axe. 'The warrior's boot. It moved!'

'Not you too, Kaulsson?' Raphael started to laugh. 'You humans…'

'What the hell?' Malaki started, turning towards the giant rat ogre. He could swear he had felt a cold draft on his neck. Staring into those dead, yellow eyes, he thought he saw something strange in their still, amber depths. But it was nothing. Raphael flicked his gaze back to Malaki. Slitting his eyes, he leapt into the air.

'To prove that this warrior is nothing…'

His sword slammed down onto the warrior's horned helm and bounced off. Perturbed, the vampire somersaulted and landed on the floor.

Even as Malaki stared, the rat ogre's jaw opened suddenly with a creak. Opening his mouth in terror, he stepped backwards, colliding with Raphael.

'Watch where you're…'

'The mouth, it…'

'Opened, yes, I saw it,' Gregore finished. He glanced about the manikins. There was something creepy about this room. He could feel a chill running up his spine, even as they lingered. As if to confirm his suspicions, the Skaven blinked one eye. He froze, his hands gripping his axe tightly. Looking down, he saw the knuckles whitening. 'Let's get out of here,' he growled, backing away from the rat man. He didn't care that it was only a mere clanrat. If it came to life, he was certain it wouldn't fight like one. And yet the manikin did nothing of the sort. It stared right back at him, as if nothing strange had occurred; it was simply a stuffed rat man.

'I agree,' Malaki mumbled. Calling to Katarina, he motioned for the others to move. 'Let's go, it's bad enough with traps. I don't like getting freaked out as well.'

A colossal map covered the entire wall of the next room, its details sketched out in various inks on what looked like human skin. It was terrible to behold. In front of the wall, lying on its side on a plain, wooden table, was a black book.

'Surely this is not the book we are looking for?' Katarina gasped in delight. She hobbled forwards, reaching out for the book. Gregore grimaced, expecting some kind of trap to activate. Thankfully nothing happened. Riffling through the pages, the sorceress found it was written in the Dark Tongue. A torn page floated from the inside back cover.

'It is not the book of Kharon Baal,' Malaki intoned. 'Merideon's map indicated it was located in a dwarven fortress. We have yet to get out of this damnable tomb.'

'What's this?' Gregore stooped to pick up the fallen scrap of parchment. Upon it was scrawled a weird drawing of three gemstones, arranged in a certain order.

'Give me that,' Katarina snapped, snatching the scrap from him and turning it around in her hands. The Kossar rolled his eyes and stepped away. He turned his attention to the nearby bookcase.

As the Red Wolves walked cautiously down another passageway, the light from the wall torches dancing in weird and disturbing patterns, Gregore heard the telltale sound of moving stone. Instinctively, he looked up.

The ceiling was descending.

'RUN!'

As Malaki and Katarina stopped walking and looked up, Gregore bolted down the corridor. Hopefully this passageway's one trap was the ceiling; it was a risk he was prepared to take. Ahead of him he could see Raphael vanishing around the curve of the passage. His blood pounded as he hurtled forwards. Turning his head momentarily, he was dismayed to find the knight and sorceress gaping instead of fleeing.

'Don't look at the ceiling, you idiots, run!' Whirling, he cursed and fled. They had better change their view from the ceiling to common sense, and thankfully he heard the slap of boots on flagstones and knew they were following as fast as they could. The whole roof was coming down, lowered by some unseen mechanism no doubt triggered when they had entered the corridor. It was a fine trap: there was no way to disarm it once it had been activated. The passageway seemed to go on and on forever, curving out of sight ahead of them. Finally a doorway materialised.

'Hurry up,' Gregore yelled, sprinting the last few feet and leaping over the threshold into the space beyond. Automatically turning to see how far Malaki and Katarina had to go, he beckoned wildly with his hands. 'Get a move on, move faster!' Already the two of them were having to stoop slightly as the ceiling was getting dangerously low. Katarina was practically being dragged along, her injuries preventing her from moving very fast. And then they made it, barely, throwing themselves through the door before the ceiling smashed down into the passageway's floor behind them.

For a full fifteen minutes the companions sat on the cold, stone floor, breathing heavily. Relieved to have made it past that most dangerous of traps, they gave thanks to various gods. Raphael didn't. He didn't breathe either. While the humans were eating and refreshing themselves from their waterskins, he paced around the room, inspecting for anything of interest. There was little on the walls.

In fact, there was only one item of interest.

A massive set of double doors bordered by beaten gold and polished gemstones. On the doors themselves were set small circles of gems, of different colours. The doors had no handles.

'You might want to have a look at this,' Raphael mused, bored.

Clustered around the doors, the Red Wolves gazed at the coloured gems.

'The scrap of parchment,' Gregore said slowly. Katarina pulled it out and looked at it. The gemstones upon it obviously showed the correct combination required to press to open the doors. She turned the parchment this way and that.

'Which side was the top?'

Three hours had passed and the companions were tired, frustrated and angry. Malaki beat his armoured fist on the door, which, unyielding, did not open. Sitting around in a rough circle, they had argued and argued about which way up the scrap of parchment had been aligned in the back of the book. They didn't know which gemstones to press. Having tried many, many combinations, they had quickly despaired about finding the correct sequence. Malaki roared, unsheathing Fellblade. There was a metallic clamour as the daemonblade bit into the door, barely denting it. The doors didn't budge.

'Gods,' the knight cursed, mad with rage. Again and again he beat on the door.

Nothing happened. The doors remained closed.

'If you damage the gems we'll never get through,' Gregore snarled.

Raphael said nothing, enjoying the humans despair. But he did relate to their anger. If they didn't open the doors, he wasn't going anywhere either.

'We're doomed,' Malaki sighed. Fellblade collided with the floor. He slumped, defeated. 'We'll never get out of here. An ignoble end for such a good tale.'

'Enough talk, thinking,' Gregore snapped. His eyes were fixed on the scrap.

'Let me see that,' the knight rumbled. After a moment he grinned.

'We haven't tried…no we haven't tried this.' Standing, he paused, then pushed red, blue, and yellow on the left door. There was a satisfying click. Black, green and purple followed on the right door, and another click caused a deep rumbling. The doors creaked open. 'I knew we could do it,' Malaki shouted. 'I got it!'

5


	11. Chapter 11: Crypt

_Andy Lex Bain Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

XI

CRYPT

'I must feed,' Malaki groaned as he dragged himself down the mosaic-floored passage. The blood thirst burned within him. It felt as if his veins were on fire, liquid magma flowing through his limbs, draining his strength and sapping his will. Part of him wanted to latch onto the closest of his companions and satisfy his unholy thirst. He fought the temptation down, for to succumb would be to doom them all. If he didn't drink he knew his body would soon shut down and he'd be trapped and this tomb would become his resting place. The tomb had plenty of guardians, but barely any of them had blood running through their wasted bodies.

Gregore glanced at the knight. Malaki was pale, and his face, the only part of his skin not protected by full plate armour, was covered in a sheen of sweat. Subconsciously, he raised a hand to touch one of his horns. Tightly curled like a ram's, it jutted from the side of his skull, like an unsightly growth of bone.

But he had long accepted the new additions. With his wife and sister taken by the chaos hordes, and his father dead, he had no reason to return to Kislev. If he returned, there was no doubt that he would be persecuted for his mutation. He knew he wouldn't be returning. There was no coming back.

'Believe me, you know not the true thirst,' Raphael spat. He himself was holding back, but knew he also would need to feed soon. Narrowing his eyes, he flexed his muscles as a number of glinting red eyes materialised in the gloom. 'Ah, it may not be the best, but it is something to relieve the hunger.'

Malaki blinked wearily and pawed at his face with one gauntleted hand. Shaking his head slightly, he unsheathed Fellblade jerkily and struck a combative stance. As if it knew combat was near, the daemonblade began to glow with a fey, inner light, pulsating like a living thing. It, also, hungered.

'Come to me, small beasts,' the knight slavered drunkenly. Curse all the gods and this foul mortal body, he thought, his eyes flashing red. The pitiful beings of Magnus Glint and Morgan Keppler yearned for release, their every thought struggling against their psychic bond. Malaki needed the blood to keep them from gaining control as well as to sustain the body. Without it, soon, he would be overwhelmed. His jaws parted, fangs bared, he took a tentative step forwards.

And then suddenly the party was engulfed in battle, giant, mutated rats the size of dogs bounding from the shadows. Keeping back, Gregore pulled an arrow from his quiver and, nocking and firing in one fluid motion, sent it through a rat's snarling jaws. The rat, in mid-leap, was halted abruptly and its corpse dropped to the marble floor. Katarina, nursing her behind, closed her eyes and slipped into the shadows. Muttering a minor spell under her breath, she wove the darkness around her, concealing herself from the dire rats' sight.

'Blood,' Malaki bellowed. Fellblade lashed out, slicing two of the rats in half like a peasant's scythe cutting through grass. The daemonblade emitted a terrifying shriek as it drank their essence and Gregore clapped his hands to his ears. What manner of hellish weapon was this? But then Malaki dropped the sword and reached forwards hungrily, his gauntlets grasping the two halves of a rat's broken body. Without any further delay the knight sank his fangs into the blood-dripping meat, pulling back briefly to roar like a beast at the sandstone ceiling. Crimson droplets spattered across the floor as he returned to his meal. Beside him Raphael cut and lashed through the remaining rats. One of the foul creatures latched onto his ankle, digging its teeth through the leather boots and into the flesh beneath. Uttering a curse the vampire shook his boot but the rat refused to be dislodged and hung on as if its pitiful existence depended on it. Seeing the vampire's discomfort, Gregore sniggered to himself. Then another rat launched itself at the Kossar and he returned his attention to the attack, firing another arrow to pierce the monster's skull and send it flying across the corridor. Within seconds the last few rats were either dead or had turned tail and scampered away into the darkness.

Casting a sideways glance at the kneeling knight, Raphael wrinkled his nose in disgust. To stoop to feeding from vermin was to become like vermin oneself, and was certainly not the Von Carstein way. Yet Malaki was not of the noble bloodline, he was not even vampire. Let him feed like a beast, he thought.

The corridor was lit by burning, wall-mounted torches. Reaching up for one, Gregore snuffed it out with his heavy cloak. It could be useful, he thought. Snuffing out a second one, he shoved it into his backpack alongside the first torch. Returning his attention to the others, he found Katarina and Malaki engaged in heated debate as to which pathway to follow. The passageway had split up at a junction and the knight was trying to enforce his authority on the newborn sorceress. One end of the corridor was blocked by a huge, steel door; the other had a mundane set of wooden ones. Raphael was standing by idly, clearly bored.

'We should go this way!' Katarina was shouting in her high-pitched voice.

'No, I'm the leader here. We should go down there,' Malaki grunted, pointing with his sword.

'You make no sense. The steel door…'

'Enough, wench. I…'

'How about splitting up then?'

Malaki paused at the sorceress's query. That threw him off. Watching, the Kossar could see indecision warring in the knight's eyes.

'Arguing won't get us anywhere,' Gregore snarled, striding off towards the metal door. Frankly, he was getting sick of the knight and sorceress's little bouts. It was as if they were a married couple. Perhaps, soon, they would be.

In a manner of speaking.

Raising an eyebrow, Raphael smirked and walked nonchalantly in the opposite direction. At the splitting of the party, Katarina and Malaki swallowed their pride and hurried after Gregore.

The door was made from solid steel. It was one sheet, cut to fit the door frame, and a large, bulky handle protruded forward like a wickedly curved talon. As Malaki reached forwards to grasp the handle, Gregore shoved past him.

'Do you never learn, knight? It could be trapped.' Closely, he inspected the doorway. There were no glyphs or symbols of any kind. Reaching forwards cautiously, he touched the door handle.

Instantly he was filled with burning pain as the metal prong flicked upwards, spraying his hand with a glutinous, green liquid.

'Ursa's teeth,' he cursed, staggering back and clutching his wrist with his other hand, careful not to touch the poison. He quickly smothered it in his cloak, gritting his teeth as his hand caught on the rough furs. Leaning up against the wall, breathing heavily, he glowered at the door, as if trying to make it cringe in guilt.

The door didn't move.

'Fool,' Malaki guffawed, stepping backwards, bumping into Katarina as he did so. Almost immediately he felt the sorceress's arms around him.

'I can liquefy the door,' she said soothingly. Removing her arms to Malaki's chagrin, she strode forwards.

The air began to get hotter as Katarina summoned the winds of magic. She closed her eyes, drawing all the power she could muster. She could feel the power as it filled her, running through her like snapping coils of electricity, leaping through her veins and nerve endings. Then, with a sudden burst of power, like an unleashed tornado of kinetic force, she hurled the energy forwards. For a moment it seemed like the door was about to resist, but then it sagged, melting into a sloughing mass of molten steel. With a roar of rage, Gregore sprang up and lodged his axe into the door's mid-section.

'Take that, you lustrous bastard!'

With a squelch, the weapon stuck fast, its blade caught solidly in the door. The door oozed downwards, taking forever to disintegrate. Gregore pulled at the axe, but it refused to come free. Cursing in Kislevian, he wrenched as hard as he could.

The axe stayed where it was.

'Give us a hand here,' the Kossar snarled. Malaki ignored him, instead flaming at the door with his torch. The heat from the flames flared up and Gregore cursed again, letting go of his axe to shield his face. 'Out of my way,' he spat, disgusted, and barged past his fellows.

Gregore found Raphael in the thick of battle. As he entered the room, to which the wooden doors had been ripped off and placed neatly up against the wall, he saw the vampire engaging a shambling horror. The tomb guard was clad in ceremonial, golden garb, rings and bangles decorating its now decrepit cadaver. Raphael's sword clanged off the undead's curved Khopesh, sparks flying like embers into the dank, tomb air. Gregore leapt into the attack, his sword hissing from its scabbard.

'Time for you to go back to hell,' he roared, allowing his irritation at other matters to get through. The sword swept through the tomb guard's neck, slicing the skull clean off and sending it rolling across the floor. Nodding to the vampire, he stood by the vampire's side as more Tomb Guards emerged from the nearby shadowy archway, like spectres materialising from the depths of a nightmare. Armour clanking, blades scraping across the flagstones, the undead warriors' eyes glowed with infernal balefire as they prepared to defend the tomb of their master.

'I'll distract them, you get behind them and kill the bastards,' Gregore growled. Raphael raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless complied, leaping up the wall in a blur of shadow and darkness.

The first guard swung its weapon at Gregore's head in a wide, slow arc. Gregore easily parried it, hacking out at the shield arm. With surprising swiftness the large, square shield raised and a loud clunk rang out as the blow was deflected. The Kossar ducked another swing and backpedalled, keeping his eye on the other undead approaching from his right. A series of clashes followed, neither man nor corpse finding a weakness. Feinting to the right to force the shield arm up, Gregore lunged at the warrior's sword arm. The arm came away in a spray of bone, the Khopesh clattering to the ground. Following up, the Kossar whirled and kicked the legs out from beneath his foe, sending it crashing to the ground. But as he recovered, another blade sliced past his shoulder. The blow broke several links in his chain mail but luckily did nothing more.

Raphael cut through one of the guard's necks as it turned to face the new threat, the skull disintegrating into dust. As the body collapsed into a pile of debris, more tomb guards spilled from the archway. Cursing richly in Sylvanian, Raphael glanced back towards Gregore. He wasn't doing too badly by the look of things.

With deft strokes, Gregore parried and blocked each blow coming at him. Suddenly another guard lurched into the fight and he knew he was in trouble. Parrying one blow, he dodged aside from the simultaneous attack from the other, but it was a close call and the Khopesh barely missed him. He backed off, trying to find a way of gaining some advantage. The shields were large, cumbersome but large and the tomb guards had little trouble blocking his now desperate attacks. Hemmed in by the three tomb guards now encircling him, Gregore gritted his teeth and hacked out at one of them. His sword clanged off its blade, and he ducked back just as another's sword slashed his left arm. Crying out in pain, he felt the blood leaking through the ripped chain mail sleeve.

'It's going to take more than that to take me down, dead ones,' he snarled. Lashing out frenziedly, he drove the point of his blade through a tomb guard's face. Instantly the skull exploded into dust, and the corpse pitched backwards. But two more khopeshes arched downwards, and Gregore twisted to avoid the worst of the damage. The weapons sliced into his body and he roared like a beast, hacking out at his opponents. One of the guards went down but the other raised its shield and his blows put a dent in it the size of a man's head.

Raphael slew and killed with rapid cuts of his sword. Khopeshes swished past him as he moved, his lightning speed bypassing their meagre defences. Dispatching the undead as quickly as he could, he fought through their ranks back towards his struggling companion.

Gregore was bleeding heavily from a gash on his left leg. Blood flowed freely from a small cut on his face and his chain mail coat was torn in several places. Around him lay the remnants of several tomb guards, but he was hemmed in now, backed against the wall. The next attack could prove fatal. Warily, his eyes flicking back and forth between his unrelenting foes, he held his sword in a guard position, ready to parry. Staggering slightly, he cursed as he felt the wall at his back. Then one of the khopeshes came slashing downwards and his sword rose to meet it. Summoning up inner strength, he struck out, his riposte ripping through the creature's defence and shearing off its sword arm. Suddenly Raphael was there, his sword hacking into the other undead warriors. Gregore smiled grimly, parrying another Khopesh and cleaving through another guard's leg. Within minutes the last undead were destroyed.

Gregore slid down the wall, his sword clanging on the flagstones. Regulating his breathing, he shut his eyes and thanked Ursa. Perhaps the vampire was good for something after all. A pool of blood began to spread from his injured leg.

'That was a close one,' Raphael commented, cleaning his sword on a rag. The blood so close called to him…invited him. Gritting his teeth, he shut it out. Now was not the time. Gregore didn't respond. 'That's a fine sword…for a Kislevite.'

'It's a Norscan Broadsword,' Gregore snapped, his eyes flicking open. For a moment he stared back at the vampire, challenging him. Then he broke eye contact and started binding his leg tight. 'My mother…she was Norscan. And yes…we are a team. Let's get back to the others.' He struggled upright, grabbed his sword and left the room. Raphael made a noise of satisfaction and followed.

With a rhythmic clanking, followed by the regular sounds of chains being pulled, the rectangular, chopping blades fell and were hauled back up to the ceiling. There were several of the traps, spaced periodically down the length of the entire corridor. There was nothing concealed, or hidden: the passage just emanated raw fear from the traps alone. Sparks flew as the blades smashed into the flagstones, and bones could be seen lying scattered between the partitions. Near the first one lay a skeleton, severed cleanly in half. It was a gruesome sight, and invoked terrible images: a man, shaking with fear, watching the rising blade and trying to judge the correct time to leap past, beneath its menace. And then, just as he ran, he misjudged, and the blade came slashing down on him like a guillotine.

It was a gruesome sight.

There were at least three such traps; plainly visible, honest and completely straightforward. All you had to do was duck underneath and run past.

It was just a matter of timing.

'Should be easy enough,' Malaki grunted. Gregore slitted his eyes as the knight approached the first blade. The knight was resoundingly clumsy. This could be his last mistake.

'Do not underestimate the trap,' the Kossar said slowly. Malaki turned back for a moment then turned to regard the trap again. He swallowed, visibly.

'I…I'm not underestimating it,' he said, 'but I think I can make this.'

The others watched as Malaki rolled his armoured shoulders and took a deep breath. He stepped in as close as he dared. The blade slammed down in front of him, making him step back involuntarily. Then it raised itself back up again, slowly, with the clinking of chains. What devilry is raising it back up again, he thought. He could see no mechanism, only the blade suspended on the chains visibly being pulled back up towards the ceiling. Once again the chains released and the blade came screeching downwards to crash into the floor. Well, here goes, he mused.

As the blade was raised, he needed to judge how high it was going to go before it fell, and how much gap he needed to duck beneath. As he watched it going up, he shook his head. He was tall, he needed to duck; otherwise he could be cutting it too close. And the timing wasn't the only thing that would get cut.

'Now,' he roared aloud to himself, rolling under the blade. Seconds later the blade slammed downwards, catching the edge of his cloak. Breathing a sigh of relief, he waited for the blade to rise then yanked it clear.

'Okay, I'm through,' he yelled back to the others. 'Come on, it's just…'

'A matter of timing, yes,' Raphael cut him off. 'Well done, human.' With absolute nonchalance, the vampire ducked beneath the blade and barged past Malaki, heading down the corridor towards the next blade trap. Malaki glared darkly in his direction before motioning to Gregore and Katarina.

'Arrogant son of a whore,' he snarled. He beckoned to Katarina. 'Come on, you can do this.'

Katarina watched the blade rising and falling. She knew she couldn't do it. She was no warrior, her reflexes and agility were nothing compared to the others. Each time the blade hit the flagstones she flinched, her eyes darting back and forth from Malaki to the partition separating them.

'Get a move on,' Gregore groaned, pushing off from where he was leaning against the wall to stand next to her. The woman could do with a little mental support. 'You can do this. You are light; Malaki could make it, with all his armour. This is a breeze for you. Go,' he said at the right time. 'Go. Too late. Go.'

Katarina, emboldened by Gregore's words, suddenly launched herself forwards. At the last second she pulled back, shrieking as the blade crashed down in front of her. Her hesitation had cost her a shred of her dress and a tear ran down her face. Gregore grimaced. He understood; it was not simply a matter of timing. It was a very frightening experience. One misjudgement and it was all over.

It was a very dangerous trap, designed to instil terror. It was designed well.

'No…I…I can't do it,' Katarina sighed, shaking her head. 'There must be another way.'

On the other side, Malaki cursed. He watched as Katarina searched the surrounding walls and floor, desperately seeking another route past the partition.

There were none. They were surrounded by thick layers of solid rock.

Gregore scratched his head. He too was out of ideas. He squinted down the corridor. Raphael had already reached the end, and was scaling a large pillar. The blasted vampire, he thought, always thinking about himself. Would it really hurt the man to help out? Not that he was a man, not anymore.

One idea occurred to him as he fingered the pommel of his sword…

'What about magic? Is there some spell you can use to bypass the traps?'

Katarina shook her head. It would take too much energy to melt the blades, and cost too much time. Suddenly something smashed into the back of her head and her world went black.

'You bastard,' Malaki roared. 'What have you done?'

'Fool,' Gregore chucked, arranging Katarina's prone body on the floor. 'She'll be all right. This is the only way.'

'I guess,' the knight grumbled, catching onto Gregore's plan. As the blade rose up again Gregore shoved the sorceress's body towards Malaki and Malaki grabbed her and dragged her clear. It was ungainly and dirtied her dress, but at least she was in one piece. Gregore hurled himself past the blade, limping but making it.

In the mist of combat against a giant Ushabti, Raphael was in a rage, slashing, thrusting, kicking and punching, but still keeping his Vampiric finesse.

'I have you,' Raphael thought to himself, but just before the final blow could be delivered something slammed into his back. As Raphael looked down it was to his horror to see his heart had been pierced by an arrow. But it was not fear that leaked from the hole in his heart, but hate. The humans had betrayed him. 'No,' he gasped, 'not now, I can't die here...... not like this.'

An uncountable amount of hatred and rage built up inside Raphael. 'I still had so much to achieve, so many things I could have done, and I had all the life time in the world. Now all of it is gone, because of those pathetic humans…' With that thought Raphael hit the ground.

Seconds later Fellblade sliced cleanly through the Ushabti's neck, sending its hawk-like head spinning through the air. The head cracked loudly as it smashed into the floor, bits of obsidian and gold flying off it. Another of Gregore's arrows rocketed into the construct's chest and the statue dropped its blade, the massive weapon clanging like a thousand iron bells. Slowly, with bits of rubble flaking off it, the Ushabti collapsed into a pile of dust and debris.

'Raphael,' Gregore called, seeing the vampire's body slumped forwards amidst the wreckage. He strode forth, his eyes widening when he saw the arrow shaft protruding from the vampire's back. Malaki, too, was examining their comrade.

'Looks like you missed with one of your arrows,' the knight guffawed.

'Apparently,' Gregore breathed, half in shock at what he had done. He blinked. The vampire, Raphael Del Sorrell, was dead. Their short-time comrade, the bastion of power, arrogance and flair, had fallen. 'Yet the brightest star burns for the shortest time.' What was he saying? The vampire was dead. He should be rejoicing! Feeling a little better, he grinned, riffling through Raphael's backpack.

'What's this?' Katarina stooped to retrieve something from the floor. Securing their weapons, Malaki and Gregore looked up from Raphael's corpse. The sorceress was holding up a large ruby, the size of a man's fist. It glinted.

'Sigmar's beard,' Malaki gasped, Morgan's language coming through for a moment. 'Give me that.' He lunged for the gemstone, but Katarina dodged aside, pocketing her find.

'It's mine,' she snapped, her voice filled with authority. Malaki ground to a halt like an obedient hound. Suddenly he lost interest and turned away.

Gregore smirked.

7


	12. Chapter 12: Templar

_Andy Lex Bain Kharon's Book_

KHARON'S BOOK

XII

TEMPLAR

T he three adventurers stood in a small, crate-bedecked room. The smooth, marble floor was covered in brightly coloured mosaics, which formed strange, twisting patterns. The walls were sheathed in beaten gold, and the ceiling resembled the night sky: a deep sea blue highlighted with glinting stars. A large, ornate door dominated one of the walls, lined with glyphs that shimmered like sunlight on water.

'This god-king certainly liked being…artistic,' Malaki sneered.

'It's…beautiful,' Katarina breathed, gazing all around in wonder, in the manner of a child admiring the outside world for the first time.

'Yeah, well it won't be so nice if we get stuck down here.' The knight moved forwards, a miniature juggernaut as he thundered across the chamber. In several strides he was yanking open the ornate door before Gregore or Katarina could stop him. There was a grinding of stone and a pit opened beneath Malaki's boots. With an awkward yelp, he fell in, his arms flailing like a windmill.

A tremendous crash heralded Malaki's reward.

Once again, the knight found himself on his back. With a groan, he struggled upright to see Gregore's disapproving face staring down at him. He rubbed his crown, noticing a strange gemstone on the wall.

'One day you'll end up like Merideon,' Gregore chided.

'When that day comes, I'll…' With a gasp of pain, Malaki grabbed his head. Flickers of yellow energy danced around his eyes and teeth, like tiny chain lightning. His back arching, arms wide, he roared in pain as the others looked on, helplessly.

'Are you all right?' Katarina screamed. 'What's happening?' She turned terrified eyes to Gregore.

'I…I don't know,' Gregore replied, his gaze fixed on the convulsing knight. Suddenly, there was a furious burst of light and he was forced to shield his eyes. When he looked again, Malaki was getting to his feet and regarding his palms. The knight then looked at his body, moving in a way that suggested he was checking to see if he was still in one piece. An expression of confusion and yet exaltation was fixed on his face. The knight's now blue eyes flicked to Gregore.

'I'm back!' He laughed out loud, jubilant, triumphant. 'Yes! Yes! Can you believe it, I'm back! At last, at last…I have returned.'

'What's he on about…' Katarina glanced at Gregore. 'And why…why are his eyes blue? What's going on?' Her voice trembled.

'I think…I think one of the knight's…other personalities has resurfaced,' Gregore mused, incredulous. 'But…how can this be?'

'I don't care how it came to be,' Magnus bellowed. He smiled. 'Finally, finally that blood-sucking bastard is gone!'

Raphael hurtled down the corridor. He had to catch up with the others! On his own, even with his vampiric powers he doubted he could make it to the location of Kharon's book alive. Or at least half alive…or whatever state it was vampires existed in. He was still getting used to this…unlife. Part of him, however, revelled in it. It was the best thing that had happened to him all his short life.

Skidding around a corner, his keen senses picked up the sound of voices. There was shouting, although it wasn't the type that occurred in battle. He rushed down the passage, rounding another corner, down some steps and passing beneath an arch before emerging into a small room with a floor decorated in coloured mosaics. Gregore, Katarina and Malaki whirled about as he entered.

There was a shocked silence.

'I knew you'd come back,' Gregore spat with obvious disgust. Suddenly there was a blur of motion accompanied by the hiss of steel as three swords were drawn and pointed at Raphael's chest. The vampire raised an eyebrow, his face breaking into a fanged, sinister smile.

'You don't really think you lot could take me on?' He exerted his will, his mind calling out to the humans to lower their blades. An aura of darkness began to manifest around his eyes as he stared at them intently.

For a moment it looked like it might work. Nothing happened.

There was a hard glint in the knight's eye.

'Would you like to give it a try?' He raised Fellblade and pressed slightly against the vampire's throat. Raphael swallowed visibly, and held up a hand.

'Wait. We can help each other.' He stepped back, away from the swords, which remained pointing at him. Recomposing himself, he opened his arms wide in a supplicating gesture. 'I need your aid, as much as I hate to admit it. I can lend my strength, speed, agility, and dashing good looks…'

'Oh shut up,' Katarina snapped. Raphael knew she had no idea how to use a sword, but he was sure she wouldn't have a problem plunging her sword through his chest since it was already in the right position.

'Together…we can get out of here. We can help each other.'

'And why shouldn't we kill you right here and now,' Malaki rumbled. 'You are a thing of evil.' There was something different about his voice, his posture and the light in his eyes. Strangely, his fangs were gone and the smell of blood around his soul had vanished. It was almost as if he were a different person.

'As I said, my abilities…'

'The vampire is right,' Gregore admitted. 'We could use his fighting skills. I have not seen many with his level of talent.' Inwardly, he tried to push aside the fact that he owed the vampire for saving him from the Tomb Guard.

'You see?' Raphael smirked. 'At least someone…'

'Shut up,' Gregore snarled. 'Let's just get on with getting out of here, ok?'

'Very well,' Raphael mused. He glanced around the room, taking in every detail. 'You tried the door?'

'It's a trap,' the knight known to him as Malaki said gruffly. 'Oh and by the way, you will now call me Magnus. The daemon Malaki is no more.'

'That's some trap, then.' Raphael blinked. The knight had an aura of reckless youth and courage surrounding him, not one of blood, age and death. 'Magnus…as in the Pious?'

'I am not a pious man,' Magnus replied, not understanding. Raphael shook his head and turned back to the wall he was examining.

'Never mind. Ah, now this might be something.'

A small, square stone doorway swung inwards, revealing a narrow passageway.

'It'll take a lot more than that to prove your worth, vampire,' said Magnus. The way that he was standing, with Fellblade at the ready, made Raphael realise that this Magnus character was of a very different personality than that of Malaki.

'Oh don't worry, knight, I am fully committed to our arrangement. Dying my final death down here is fully out of the question.'

'Curse these blasted pits,' Magnus roared as again he tumbled into a concealed pit trap. Luckily the pit was not deep and he didn't break anything. The murmur of voices drifted down from above, and then came the scrape of steel clashing. As a new battle raged, Magnus craned his neck but could see nothing. 'What's going on up there?' Frustrated, he tried to scramble out but the walls of the pit were smooth and without handholds. He couldn't get out by himself. Arrows flew overhead; that meant Gregore was firing his bow. There was the stink of ozone in the air and a flash of blue light lit up the room; evidently Katarina was using her magic. Typical, he mused. In the heat of battle, no one had time to pull a man out of simple pit. Giving a sigh, he sat down against the wall and waited.

Finally the sounds of battle abated and a sneering chuckle could be heard. Magnus heard the clatter of bones being kicked across the stone floor.

'That look suits you.' The hiss of steel being sheathed followed. 'Throw me your rope,' Raphael stated. Finally, Magnus thought irritably.

He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and unfurled his rope, before hurling it up to the vampire. Within minutes he was standing once again on firm flagstones and he was forced to view the vampire slightly differently. Only slightly though. Raphael was a thing of evil, he told himself, and therefore was not to be trusted.

Glancing around revealed scattered bones and rusting Khopeshes: the remains of several Tomb Guards. Then his eyes alighted on the fresh corpse of Katarina.

'What happened,' he cried, disbelievingly. Rushing over to the body, he knelt down by her, next to Gregore. The Kossar was busy binding her injured arm.

'She is okay,' Gregore muttered. 'She is stunned; her magic has…side effects.' Magnus breathed a sigh of relief. Looking at her now, fully in control of his body, he felt aroused by her. She was beautiful, her golden hair, though dishevelled, flowing down around her slender shoulders and her partially transparent dress revealing a good amount of cleavage. 'Lad,' Gregore continued. Magnus realised he was staring, and looked away.

'We rest here for an hour. Then we move on.'

'As you say.'

The party made their way down a twisting, s-shaped corridor, avoiding traps and pits and dispatching guardians with relative ease. Raphael was a little unnerved, as much as a vampire could be, at the personality change in the knight. He preferred the other one, the one that he could relate to more, the dark-souled warrior, steeped in blood and murder. He tried not to let it trouble him.

At the end of the passage, a bandage-wrapped figure lurched from an alcove. With arms outstretched, it surged forwards, slow but relentless.

'Wait,' Raphael held out his arm, blocking the others. 'And now, I will show you true power.'

The air in the tomb became colder, as if all warmth was being sucked out of it. Wisps of dark energy gathered around Raphael, like a cloak of shadow. He crossed his arms over his chest, closing his eyes to the world around him. Murmuring words of power, he invoked dark magic from ages past. Slowly at first, the black tendrils slithered around him, like tentacles. Then they began sliding faster, becoming darker and more solid with each passing moment. The others looked on, in horror, as the vampire vanished beneath a writhing mass of energy, smoke spilling as if he was catching fire.

'What's going on?' Katarina wailed; clutching Magnus's armoured shoulder.

'I…have no idea,' he replied, his eyes fixed on the black energy. It spiralled upwards, Raphael now completely submerged beneath it. It resembled some monstrous plant, with questing tendrils reaching for the sun's light. Suddenly there was a nova of darkness, and the carapace disintegrated into sparks. In Raphael's place stood a massive hound, its eyes burning with hellish fury and its fangs jutting from a skeletal jaw. Instinctively, Magnus raised Fellblade. The Dire Wolf gave vent to an eerie howl. Then it turned and loped towards the approaching Mummy.

Snarling with animal savagery, Raphael bounded atop his undead foe. Flailing wildly, the mummy was helpless as the wolf clamped its jaws around the thing's head. Bandages were flying left and right and the others could see only the wolf's arched back, bent over the corpse it was tearing apart.

With a terrifying ripping sound, Raphael tore the head free, trampling the mummy's body into bone-white dust. Giving another ghostly howl, he bounded off down the corridor into the darkness.

'What the hell was that?' Gregore stuttered, clearly shocked.

'Well, whatever it was, it was useful…' Magnus broke off, clutching his head. 'No…no, not now, not yet…' He fell to his knees, his greaves scraping the floor.

'Magnus?' Katarina knelt by him, her tentacle entwined around his shoulder. Gregore blinked and switched his attention to the quivering knight.

Yellow flickers of lightning flashed around Magnus' eyes and he threw his head back and roared in agony. Clutching his head, he pitched backwards and rolled sideways, convulsing and shuddering in his pain. Katarina and Gregore backed off, not understanding this new turn of events. Surely Malaki, the evil presence, the vampiric entity was not returning? Just when it was almost certain the knight was going to explode in a shower of blood and gore, his convulsions ceased.

For a moment he was still.

'Magnus?' Gregore ventured. He did not touch the knight.

Magnus seemed to roll into a kneeling position, as if bending the knee before a king. His jaw was set firmly and his eyes were closed, as if he were contemplating. Then he spoke, and it was with a different voice.

It was a deep voice, one that resonated with authority, power and charisma.

It was the voice of Lord Morgan Keppler.

'At long last, I have control of this body. By the grace of Sigmar, I return, to take control once again!' In a smooth, fluid motion, his cloak billowing, Morgan rose to his feet, lifting Fellblade from where it had fallen. He rolled powerful shoulders, and twirled the sword expertly in a giant figure of eight. His flinty eyes flicking open, looking to Katarina and Gregore in turn, he smiled grimly before turning his stony gaze down the corridor. 'As this Kharon's mark is the only way out of this unclean place, we'd best get moving. In time, you will be purged, as all blasphemies against Sigmar should be,' he intoned, his voice like thunder in the confines of the passageway. 'But for now, follow me, and give glory to Sigmar!' With a flourish of Fellblade, the templar stampeded down the corridor, his boots ringing on the flagstones. 'Come, there are Undead filth to destroy in the name of His Divine Greatness! For Sigmar and the Empire!'

There was an awkward silence.

'I think I like Magnus better,' said Katarina.

'Somehow, I think things are going to be different from here on in,' Gregore mused.

Upon hearing the bellowing voice of the templar and the righteous tone in his booming voice, a single thought filled Raphael's head.

'Oh shit.'

5


	13. Chapter 13: Lair of the Beasts

_Andy Lex Bain Kharon's Book_

XIII

LAIR of the BEASTS

A flapping of leathery wings drew the comrades' attention to something moving high up in the dank, humid cavern. They had emerged in a vast, rocky chamber. Its walls, dripping with moisture, bulged outwards at the base, before climbing up into pitch blackness above. Stalagmites clustered the floor, rising like giant fangs. Looming out of the darkness to meet them were massive stalactites, causing the entire cave to look like a vast mouth, slightly parted to reveal its dagger-like teeth. The stench of animal, particularly bat and guano, was overwhelming and the floor was slimy with the creatures' leavings. There was no light beyond the glow of the lantern, its radiance bouncing from numerous rocks and the caps of vile fungi.

The darkness was terrifying, and held a primal fear; one that mankind had learned to fear because of the things, terrible things, that dwelt in the deep places.

They had escaped the tomb at last, finding Kharon's scratched mark near the wall in a side passage leading away from what looked like the god-king's burial chamber. There was a sense of relief amongst them; no more deadly traps or undead guardians. The caves were natural, or at least as natural as you could get in the chaos wastes; they were not a deliberately artificial construction like a tomb. Perhaps now they would have a respite from the recent dangers and terrors.

How wrong they were to be.

Another confrontation had followed, in which Raphael once again explained why the knight should not destroy him. The templar, Morgan Keppler, seemed supremely unhappy working with a vampire.

'Bloody bats,' Morgan cursed, lifting his sword in preparation to cut down any foul creatures that should dare attack him from above. He tried not to think about cutting down someone else who was somewhat bat-like in nature. 'Come and die!'

'I don't think they understand Reikspiel,' Raphael said with a sneer.

'Silence, foul creature of the Undead,' the templar snapped in retaliation.

Gregore nocked arrow to bow and aimed up into the black murk above. He could just make out the faint outlines of the bat's wings fluttering in the darkness. Watching for the right moment to fire, his concentration focussed, his boot slipped on the cave floor.

'For the love of Ursa,' Gregore cursed, falling backwards into a gigantic pile of guano. It saturated his clothes and clung to him like mud even as he struggled free of the dung heap, brushing his mail and breeches free of writhing, verminous insects. Raphael made a point of stepping away from the Kossar.

'Don't get that shit on me, will you, human.'

'Why not? Do you not enjoy bathing in filth?' Disgusted, Gregore turned his attention back to the bats. Angrily, he fired up and grinned in satisfaction when he heard the satisfying thunk as his arrow hit home. Seconds later a giant, dog-sized bat corpse crashed to the ground in front of him. It was black and hairy, its clawed wings huge and a hideous, snarling head topped its stunted body. Gregore slammed his boot into the thing's ribs, lifting it and throwing it across the cavern. 'Evil hellspawn,' he spat, fitting another arrow to his bow. 'Let's kill them all!'

Provoked, the bats swooped down to attack the intruders. The men were soon engulfed in a maelstrom of tittering, flapping wings and slashing claws. Added to the confusion was the danger of losing their footing on the guano-slick floor. Katarina still hung near the narrow crevice in the rock from which they had entered. Muttering words of arcane power, she unsheathed her sword and carved lines in the air that shimmered with blue sparks. Soon magical symbols were floating in front of the sorceress as she chanted, emitting an aura of fluctuating energy.

Slowly, a flickering dome materialized in the cave. It spread outwards from Katarina. Where it touched the bats it burned them, reducing them to nothing and causing them to flee in terror. With pure bolts of electricity firing into the air around it, the dome grew, and the warriors lowered their swords, entranced by the sorcery. In a blinding flash of light the last bats were destroyed and the air was still again. Blinking, his sight returning from the temporarily blinding blast, Gregore nodded his respect to the sorceress, even as she collapsed from exhaustion. Morgan rushed to catch her, but did not let her sit in the dung-slick cavern.

'This is no place for a lady,' he murmured. 'Come; let us go from this vile hole!'

Respite was little; soon they were beset by hoards of chittering rats, giant creatures the size of warhounds. There was little room in the tight confines of the tunnel, and this worked to the heroes' advantage, to an extent. As the dire rats poured in through the mouth of the tunnel, Gregore and Morgan stood shoulder to shoulder, cutting through the bodies of the foul beasts.

'Curse the narrowness of this cavity,' the templar roared, his voice booming and throwing echoes which bounced from the walls. Fellblade clanged from the low ceiling, dislodging columns of dust and rubble. Gregore ducked his head involuntarily as a small stone struck his shoulder. The two-handed blade swung low, slashing through a rat's head. Blood spurted skywards and Morgan rammed his armoured boot into the corpse. More rats piled over the littered bodies, their red eyes glinting and their tongues lolling from hungry jaws. The next blow nearly hit Gregore and the Kossar snarled as he stepped away from the knight.

'Watch where you're swinging your blade.'

Grunting, Morgan powered forwards, into the masses of stinking vermin. Further away from his comrades he took up a stance in the centre of the tunnel, flailing out in all directions. Bodies flew through the air to slam against the walls, blood sprayed and the rats soon surrounded the knight. They crashed against his impregnable armour like waves against a hell-forged cliff of steel, their teeth and claws scratching uselessly.

Gregore unslung his bow and notched an arrow. Firing indiscriminately into the masses, he could not miss and each missile found its mark in a claw-scarred hide. Raphael too supported the knight, cutting down the mere rats and killing with impunity.

With the last of the rats losing heart and fleeing back into the darkness, the comrades continued through to another chamber where they sat and rested. Morgan started a small campfire and the men crouched around it, revitalizing their weary limbs and chewing on dried meat and cheese.

'How deep do you think these caves go?' Said Gregore, taking a swig from his waterskin.

'Does it matter?' Morgan rumbled. He cut a hunk of bread with his knife and wolfed it down. 'We need to find the mark.'

'And then what? When will this quest end?' Gregore shook his head slightly. 'We need to find a way out of here. This book is useless to us.'

'No,' Morgan snapped. He glared at the Kossar. 'We continue the quest.'

Raphael sat silently, his eyes narrowed, taking in everything the men said.

Meanwhile, the sorceress explored the several cave entrances branching off from the cavern. They all looked the same: pitch black and smelling of animal filth. One, however, smelled different, and was flanked by tall, stone pillars.

'I'm just going to borrow this,' Katarina told Morgan, as she picked up the lantern. She adjusted its shutters.

'And where do you think you're off to?' He replied, without looking up.

'Checking out one of the tunnels,' she sighed, irritated. 'Don't worry.' Hesitantly, she approached the tunnel. A tall, stone doorway reared before her. It looked as if it had been fortified, once, with smooth, marble columns and great double doors. Now those doors were rotted and hung half-off their hinges and the columns were pitted and worn. A flickering light shone from somewhere beyond the giant doorway. Intrigued, and filled with a slight sense of adventure, she ventured forwards, the talking of the men becoming a dull murmuring behind her. The floor beneath her feet was worn down, as if something heavy and big had used this path often. The walls were far apart, creating a passage bigger than any tunnel they had traversed so far. Up ahead, she could see the tunnel emerging into a vast cavern. The sound of voices filtered down, gruff and rumbling, like stones falling down a mountainside. She edged closer.

Then her heart froze in fear.

Peering out from the tunnel, clinging to the shadows, she saw them.

They were massive, standing almost twice the height of a man and almost just as wide. There were three of them, and they were garbed in a mix of leather, fur and rusting metal plates. A roaring campfire, more resembling an infernal, blazing bonfire, radiated heat and light from the centre of their lair. One of the beasts sat on a gigantic, stone throne, chewing ravenously, a dead horse clutched in his brawny hands. Blood dripped messily down the creature's boulder jaw. An untidy heap of bones and body parts lay to his left, and even as Katarina watched the beast finished chewing on a leg and hurled the bone unceremoniously aside to land clattering amidst the pile.

'Eh Bloodmace,' one of the ogres roared in bad Reikspiel, turning to the creature on the throne. 'So now that we eaten the whole tribe, what we do next?' The speaker was shorter than his fellows, and a whole lot uglier. His face resembled a pile of rocks covered in fungi. Lank, grey hair hung like rotting curtains from the sides of his head.

'Shuddap,' the other one growled, a vicious looking fellow with a permanent sneer and a greasy, black topknot hanging from a ritually shaved head. A slice of flat stone dangled from his ear, obviously some sort of crude jewellery. 'We search around…there's got to be some more meat around here somewhere.' He sniffed, like a dog catching a scent upon the wind. 'Hmmm…any of you smell that?'

Immediately the three ogres looked around towards the tunnel entrance.

Katarina gasped in terror, nearly dropping the lantern in her fright. She stumbled, disturbing several rocks at her feet. Before she could tell whether or not the ogres had heard or seen her, she had fled back down the tunnel.

'Hmmm?' Ug, the shorter ogre, grunted. He glanced suspiciously behind him, towards the lair entrance. 'Did you hear anthin?'

'Bloody rats,' Bloodmace guffawed, cleaning off another bone and throwing it at Ug. The bone span end over end and passed Ug. It flew through the cave mouth.

Katarina staggered her way down the tunnel, her eyes wide in horror. If the ogres had seen her…suddenly something very hard slammed into the back of her head, knocking her out cold.

'I'm going to see where that wench has got to,' said Morgan, somewhat annoyed. 'She shouldn't go wandering off like that. Silly girl.' Picking up his sword, he got to his feet and glanced around. 'Katarina!'

'Roaring at the top of your voice is not a good idea,' Raphael hissed. 'You'll alert everyone for miles to our presence!'

'Let them come,' the knight snarled. 'My blade thirsts for the scum of evil.' He walked towards the larger of the tunnels. Spying the lantern lying on the ground, his eyes widened when he spotted Katarina's slumped body. 'Men! Over here, now!'

Rolling his eyes, the vampire rose and sauntered over, accompanied by a somewhat flustered Gregore. The kossar's face was lined with concern. As frustrating as Katarina was, he didn't want her dead. Kneeling by her, he felt her pulse. Relief flooded through him when he found her breathing.

'Is she dead?' Morgan's voice was soft for once.

'Of course not,' Gregore snapped. 'She's suffered a blow to the head…' His gaze wandered down the tunnel towards the other end. A flickering light pierced the darkness there and he could hear a grunting resonance. Was it talking? It sounded more like animals rutting, he thought, although he wasn't taking that risk. 'There,' he said slowly, pointing. 'We have company.'

'Finally,' Morgan laughed, his boot kicking a huge bone lying nearby. 'It's a monster worth fighting!' Before the others could protest, he hefted Fellblade and set off down the corridor, his face set in a maniacal grin. 'Prepare to die, beasts!'

'That man will call down every vile creature in the underworld upon us,' Raphael spat. He unsheathed his rapier and whipped it through the air. 'Oh well…I guess he'll need someone to prevent his imminent and most bloody death. You, stay here and protect Katarina.' And with that he stalked off after the knight.

'Warrior types,' Gregore said under his breath, cursing in Kislevian.

Raphael entered the vast ogres' lair to find Morgan locked in battle against all three ogres, their clubs and swords slamming downwards while the knight roared praises to Sigmar and unleashed countless small cuts upon the beasts' legs.

'Sigmar grant me strength!' Fellblade arced up, slashing through Ug's crude jerkin and sticking fast in the ogre's side.

'Stoneclub kill human,' the top-knotted ogre shouted enthusiastically, his stone club smashing Morgan aside. The knight was thrown across the room, Fellblade remaining stuck in Ug. Before the ogres could capitalize on the knight's plight, the vampire launched himself up at the ugly beast.

'Time for a little taste,' he growled, latching himself onto Ug's throat. The ogre yowled in agony, dropping his spiked wooden club and flailing uselessly. Fat fingers the size of daggers tried to prise Raphael off, but he clung on, draining the ogre's life force and tapping its strength. Blood was spilling like a running tap from a gaping wound in Ug's throat and Raphael drank, closing his eyes in exaltation.

Gregore ran to the entrance to the cave, arrow already nocked to bow. He took stock of the situation in a single glance. Seeing Morgan struggling to his feet and striding across the floor to retrieve Fellblade with a savage tug, he aimed at Stoneclub and fired.

The arrow flew straight and true, slamming into the beast's back. He didn't even notice the shaft protruding from him, and continued hacking downwards at the knight. Huge shards of rubble flew into the air where his sword and club missed alternately and crashed into the floor. Morgan ducked and rolled aside, trying desperately to get a chance to strike. Bloodmace, also, battered his massive, steel morning star into the floor, constantly missing the knight and clouds of dust and rocks were thrown into the air around the combat. Morgan was having a tough time, having to evade all the giant attacks. Ug had lost all interest in Morgan as he tugged and jerked at Raphael, trying to dislodge the persistent vampire. His efforts were to no avail and the vampire was feeding luxuriously.

Calmly, Gregore selected anther arrow.

This time the arrow took Stoneclub in the shoulder. He barely acknowledged it, continuing his relentless rampage. Another arrow slammed into his forearm, and this time he paused to snap the arrow like a twig. Glancing around for the source of the attack, he allowed Morgan to get a strike in and Fellblade slashed murderously up at the ogre's chest. Unfortunately the blade clattered off the bronze gutplate the beast wore. Then Stoneclub returned his attention to Morgan.

As Gregore continued his tirade of arrows, Katarina shambled up beside him, rubbing her head. Seeing the furious battle she began a chant in the dark tongue.

'Pyrostiatus elganostiuos dar'the'marys!'

A revolving, bright ball of pink and sulfurous flame burst from her hand and soared towards Bloodmace. It exploded with a shower of sparks and jagged blasts on his head. The ogre gave a howl of pain, reeling from the attack. Suddenly he lost his footing and fell backwards, crashing to the floor like a falling tree. With Stoneclub pincushioned with arrows, Morgan dodged around his huge sword and rammed Fellblade into Bloodmace's leg. A fountain of blood soaked the knight, and he roared in righteous anger.

'May Sigmar strike you down, foul beast of darkness!'

Sated, Raphael gave one last suck from Ug's corpse and leapt away, towards the throne. In a single bound he had perched atop its mighty stone seat. Producing a white kerchief, he wiped the blood from his lips and sat back to enjoy the show. Bloodmace was getting back to his feet, ignoring the bloody wounds in his body inflicted by Morgan's blade.

'Bloodmace kill you!' The huge morning star slammed into Morgan, throwing him across the room to hit the wall with a sickening crunch. Fellblade fell to the floor. Gregore's arrows were now annoying Stoneclub. Turning to finally see the Kossar, the mongol-like ogre roared in rage and thundered towards the man, like a raging god of war.

'Little one dies now!' His massive club and sword raised, he prepared to crush the man into bloody pulp. Any other man would've fled in the face of such an assault. With only seconds before the raging ogre smashed into him, Gregore coolly selected another arrow. He was nearly going to pick a normal one, but then he hesitated. He had blackened the arrowhead of one in the fire, to save for a good kill. If there had ever been a better time to use it, the time was now.

With the ogre beast pounding towards him, rocks and dust flying in all directions with every jarring step, Gregore nocked his bow and aimed.

Ten feet. The ogre's foul stench irked him immensely.

Eight feet. Every detail of the ogre's face stood out to him: the permanent grimace, the boulder-like teeth and the strong jaw, and the scars on his head.

Two feet away, he fired.

The arrow flew straight at Stoneclub's face. It rocketed through his right eye and into his small brain.

'Get back!' Gregore yelled, pulling Katarina to the side.

With a howl of frustration and agony, the ogre fell, his weapons clattering to the ground and his massive body crashing into the tunnel like a falling comet, causing a huge furrow in the floor and sending up a gigantic cloud of dust and rubble.

With Bloodmace about to crush the incapacitated Morgan beneath his weapon like a man stamping out the life of an insect, Raphael sighed and rolled his eyes. Bounding to his feet and unsheathing his sword and crossed the distance in an instant. As the massive mace came scything down the vampire's blade slashed an x in the back of Bloodmace's neck. Blood sprayed Raphael's face as the ogre paused, groaning in pain. Quickly, Raphael rushed down to the knight and pushed him away as the beast's arm fell to be impaled on the vampire's upraised blade.

As blood rained down, soaking his clothes, he grimaced.

'Now that's how it's done.'

Morgan peered down dubiously into the well. Protected by a rusting, iron grate it was the only other exit to the ogres' lair. The ogres, he supposed, must have come in by another entrance somewhere in the depths of the cave labyrinth. He had thought about backtracking, and choosing another tunnel, but the mark was here. Hidden beneath a pile of shields, broken swords and a grimy treasure chest, which contained barely anything worth keeping, let alone offering to the Temple, was the Mark of Kharon Baal. The man holding the book symbol was etched into the stone floor, indicating that this room was on the path towards the sorcerer's book. The well was deep, and he could glimpse a flicker of light in its depths. It was faint, and disappeared periodically. There was also a flimsy, iron ladder, leading down so they wouldn't have to waste the rope.

'You ready?' He asked his companions. Sizing them up, he found he could look upon them with pride. After this battle, against the most ferocious and toughened of beasts, he felt honoured to stand by them in this most glorious of quests.

Katarina, her golden hair flowing down around her shoulders, smiled at him. Her sword glowed with a faint, azure light.

Gregore, garbed in his stiffened leather and chain mail, nodded his head. He place his fist over his heart in a gesture of warrior comradeship.

Even Raphael, with his hard, cold eyes and noble demeanor, was worthy of some respect. The man had aided him, and his prowess was notable.

'What are we waiting for, sir knight?' The vampire grinned.

Smiling with satisfaction, Morgan wrenched the grate free and discarded it.

'Come, friends, we have much to explore. Together, nothing will stop us, we are a rock against which the tides of darkness shall fall. Together, we are invincible and Kharon Baal will regret the day we set out to claim his book. Together, we are the Red Wolves!!!'

7


	14. Chapter 14: The Honouring

_Andy Lex Bain Kharon's Book_

XIV

The Honouring

'T hat was some speech I just gave,' Magnus muttered as the companions reached the bottom of the well. They were standing in a darkened crevice in the rock. It was narrow, and there was a definite sense of claustrophobia. The air was quiet, and smelled of something musty and stale, like dried meat but also similar to the dust of ages in a tomb.

'You heard it?' Gregore asked, raising an eyebrow.

'Yeah,' the knight replied. 'Morgan sure does have a way with…heroic speeches. I guess it's typical…he _is_ a templar of the Order of the Fiery Heart.'

'This is probably going to take some getting used to,' Raphael said, regarding the knight. 'So, now you're Magnus?'

'I am,' Magnus growled, glancing around and stalking away like a restless lion.

Further down the gloomy tunnel they could see a beam of greyish light shining from somewhere up above. The beam illuminated something lying on the ground toward the end of the tunnel, a murky heap surrounded by numerous objects that glittered like shards of metal in the lamp light.

'Over here!' The knight had found something. As the others gathered around, their eyes widened in surprise.

It was the body of Lord Merideon.

'Well,' Raphael said gleefully, 'how fortunate. It's about time we found some real treasure.'

'Honourless cur,' Magnus snarled. 'Show some respect you worthless dog.'

'So this is where he fell.' Gregore craned his neck to look upwards. The beam of light shone down, seemingly from a shaft hundreds of miles up.

'The blood-sucker has a point,' Katarina reasoned. 'He…Merideon won't…need any of these things anymore.' She waved her hand at the scattered objects, a wave of blue light illuminating them in turn. Strewn around the body were various weapons, jewellery and pieces of equipment, as well as many, many coins. 'He would want us to take them.'

There was an awkward silence. Then Magnus spoke.

'Very well, I agree that in death Merideon has no use for these items. It would be in his honour to continue to use them. But first, we must bury him, now that we have the chance.'

'I think cremation is more appropriate, in these lands,' Gregore suggested. 'After all, I think Merideon would prefer to have his body burned than eaten away slowly by chaos-tainted worms over what could turn out to be thousands of years.'

'Good thinking,' Raphael agreed. He turned to Katarina and raised his eyebrow.

Katarina nodded, still staring at the body. In a few minutes the corpse of Lord Merideon was resting on his back, with arms folded over his chest. Beneath them, running down the length of his body, was one of Merideon's swords, polished and gleaming. Around his neck were arrayed the noble's ancient heirloom and most precious jewels, given to him by his house. Finally, Magnus shrouded the body in his travel blanket and doused it with a bottle of ale. Then all four comrades stood back and Katarina closed her eyes, murmuring the words to a spell. Her eyes flicked open, and flame materialized in her hand. For a moment she hesitated.

'Rest well, comrade,' Magnus said softly. 'Be at peace.'

Then Katarina cast the fire forth. In a moment the body flared up, immolated by the magical flames. The Red Wolves were lost momentarily in the moment.

'I want that ring,' Raphael stated coldly, pointing to a large, purple-gemmed ring. A rune was carved into its surface, one Magnus quickly recognised as that of the Amethyst Lore of Magic. It was Merideon's Time Freeze Ring, which he had used to the party's benefit on many an occasion. 'And the ruby should also be mine,' he continued, 'considering the fact that my ruby was stolen from me so unjustly.' He glared meaningfully at Katarina.

Magnus was sorting through the fallen noble's gear, handing each item to the others, who proceeded to argue heatedly about who deserved to be the new owner.

'I will take the large ruby ring then,' Gregore snapped.

'The Doomfire Ring,' Magnus explained, as he handed it to the Kossar, 'is a very powerful artefact. Use it wisely my friend.'

With the companions satisfied and each item either taken or politely discarded, they adjusted their packs and made ready to continue into the tunnel ahead. As Magnus checked the lantern and took one last look back at the burning fire, he couldn't help but feel the frustration of being freed from the bastard Malaki _after_ Merideon had fallen. Giving a heavy sigh, he turned and led the party into the darkness.

'Be at peace…'

2


	15. Chapter 15: Fellblade's End

_Andy Lex Bain Kharon's Book_

XV

Fellblade's End

T hey had fought their way through the Ogres' lair and battled against numerous eight-legged fiends. They had braved the terrors of the dark and the mutants of the wastes. With mutations wracking their bodies and chaos energy constantly threatening to overwhelm their minds with visions of blood and suffering, they had stumbled on, following the marks of the sorcerer Kharon Baal, desperately hoping to find some relief from their dangerous quest.

But it was not to be. These were the Chaos Wastes, the most dangerous and deadly environment in the world.

It was a wonder they were still alive.

They now found themselves standing in a large, pit-like chamber. Rocks littered the ground and stalagmites soared upwards towards the ceiling like craggy fangs. A set of rocky steps led down into an area of deep shadow. Was it a trick of the low light, or did something move down there? Morgan crept closer to investigate…

A scuttling of legs was all he needed to hear.

'It's another spider,' the templar snarled, unsheathing his sword, the metallic scraping of the blade shattering the silence. 'For Merideon and Grunberg!'

'Does that man not know the meaning of stealth?' Katarina was exasperated. She pointed into the pit where a faint light shone near a stone archway. 'Surely we could've easily snuck past the beast?'

'Not with Morgan,' Gregore grunted, giving his Doomfire Ring a rub. He aimed it directly at the monstrous spider emerging from the shadows. As large as a barn, its legs were covered in horrid black hairs and its eight eyes glinted like black marbles. Jaws like serrated sickles gnashed in anticipation of its next meal. 'By the jaws of Ursa, feel the Doomfire!'

A searing bolt of orange-yellow flame roared into the spider. It caught alight, its hide hissing madly with steam and soon the creature was blazing. Morgan had to step back from the heat, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The blade caught three of his foe's wildly lashing legs, slicing through them with relative ease. Black blood spurted forth, spattering the knight's breastplate with gore.

'Blasted fiend, I just polished this armour!'

An explosion of green fire reared upwards behind Gregore and emerald sparks ricocheted around the chamber. Turning, the Kossar saw Raphael morphing into wolf form with a swirl of black energy. But he was hit by a blast of green fire. Yelping in pain, he writhed while Katarina cursed and sought to gain control of her fickle magic. As the fires, both orange and green died down, leaving nothing but smouldering ashes and smoking stones, Raphael shook his heavy head and struggled to his feet. Snarling angrily he prepared to reprimand the sorceress, invoking the power needed to return to humanoid form.

Striding up to Katarina he opened his mouth.

Nothing came out except for an animalistic roar.

'Get away from me,' she screamed warding him away with her sword. 'Gregore, Morgan…he's gone wild!'

Raphael cursed, or at least in his mind.

He was trapped in wolf form. It must have been the malfunctioning sorcery. Giving an eerie howl, he loped off towards the lighted archway, disappearing beyond.

'Yes, beast, that's right, flee while you still can,' Morgan bellowed, waving his sword. 'The vile creature of the night has realized he's working with a templar of holy Sigmar. I long for the time when I can run him through.'

Gregore exchanged an uneasy glance with Katarina.

A foul slurping and crunching sounded from the chamber down the tunnel. With Morgan leading the way, sword drawn and ready to fight, the comrades burst into the space at the tunnel's end. It was a roughly shaped cave, sparsely decorated with rotting wooden barrels. A huge, mangy shape, covered in black fur was crouching over a bloody corpse.

'Prepare to meet your end, foul…'

'It's Raphael,' Gregore stated before the knight could bring his sword slicing down onto the creature's neck. For a moment it looked as though Morgan would continue his swing, but then, giving a frustrated sigh, he lowered his blade. Kicking the wolf in the side sending it over, he cursed the vampire.

'Can't you do that some other time, undead filth?'

Raphael scrambled to his feet and snarled menacingly, baring his vicious fangs.

'You don't scare me, undead cur,' the knight replied, raising his sword again.

'Enough!' Gregore shouted, moving to stand between them. 'Morgan, check those barrels. There may be something we can salvage. Katarina, pull that spear from Raphael's side.' Sure enough, a large, wooden spear was embedded in the wolf's flank. The wound was bleeding heavily; obviously the dead goblin had put up a fight before being succumbing to the vampire's red thirst.

'Ah, now this is useful,' Morgan rumbled, lifting a heavy claymore from one of the barrels. He discarded Fellblade, which clattered to the ground with a thunderous boom and a flash of lightning. 'Now I can use a real weapon.' He turned and swished the claymore through the air, feeling its weight and strength. Suddenly his gaze moved to the daemon sword. A smile came across his face.

'Wait,' Katarina said slowly, kneeling by Raphael but with her eyes on Morgan. 'What are you doing? The sword could be used still…wait, don't!'

Morgan's mortal blade came crashing down on Fellblade. With an earth-shattering ringing, like the hammering of a thousand forge-hammers, the daemon blade was split asunder, breaking into two shards. Instantly a magical storm was unleashed, flinging all present from their feet and swirling dust and debris about the room. A shrill shrieking began, as the hundreds of lost souls were released. Flickers of blue lightning danced and flashes of chaotic energy exploded from the broken blade. Holding his hand over his eyes, Morgan watched with satisfaction as Fellblade was destroyed, reduced to bluish-grey dust.

'It is ended,' he sighed, sinking back onto the floor. He smiled with content. 'Fellblade…an evil sword…gone forever.'

2


	16. Chapter 16: Better Off Dead

_Andy Lex Bain Kharon's Book_

XVI

Better Off Dead

Camped outside the Temple of Skulls, with the beating of drums echoing faintly through the rock, Magnus Glint hunkered down and tried to rest. For all he knew, this was the last chance he'd ever get. Around him the others huddled in their blankets. Raphael was on watch. This irritated Magnus. It was a vampire.

With Fellblade gone, another great burden was lifted from Magnus' shoulders. He was free of Malaki, and free of the daemonic weapon. If he could just rid his head of the soul of Morgan Keppler, then, finally, he would be totally free. For so long, he had battled for control of his own body. Now, at last, he had some measure of control, and yet still the templar, clinging to life, would not relinquish his hold and so the struggle continued.

He could understand the man's plight. And yet he hated him for his selfishness. This was his body, his body alone. The templar had no right to it. He had died a long time ago. It was unfortunate, but this was the world they lived in. It was grim, fickle, and dark. It was a world full of blood, pain and suffering.

This was his world.

How long had it been since that first day, when the Red Wolves were created? Years, it must've been, but how many was a mystery. Time flowed differently in the Chaos Wastes, time had no meaning here. There was no day, and there was no night. His existence just dragged on from hour to hour, a constant struggle to keep his sanity.

But had he already gone insane? What were the qualifications for being sane? He was joining forces with a bloody vampire, a thing of evil. He shook his head slightly. What was he turning into? Just when he had recovered his humanity?

Siareth was long dead. Kurt was dead. Merideon was dead. Even short time comrade Skurdi, was dead. And Katarina…he closed his eyes and imagined her arms around him, the scent of her, the strands of her hair brushing against his face. How he longed to feel such arousal again…

Only Gabrielle, his dear sister, could still be counted amongst the living. But even she might be dead.

He would never know for sure.

A single tear trickled down his face. He was alone. He was the last one, the last of the true Red Wolves. He was alive, but it felt as though he had been left behind.

Where were they now? He was sure they had passed through the Gates of Morr. They did not suffer now. They were at peace.

Part of him wanted to join them. As much as he enjoyed the company of Gregore and the new Katarina, he knew they would never share the same bond he had with the original Red Wolves. That unshakable bond, forged in blood, would've seen them standing together at the End of Days.

He reflected on the times ahead. The book of Kharon had not been found. The quest was unending. The path led on, and on, and on. According to Merideon's map they should be close but every time he thought about it, it seemed more and more of a trap. Why would a vile sorcerer simply leave a map lying around for them to conveniently pick up? It stank of treachery.

Even if he found the book, he knew he'd never make it out of the wastes. It was nigh on impossible. He was confident in his abilities; but it wasn't going to happen. He had known the risks, but loyalty to his friends had seen him plunging through the linking book. That was how they had got here, to this hell.

He would never make it out, never. And even if he survived, somehow, in this monstrous realm of chaos and mutation, he would have the damned templar's soul stuck in his head forever. It was not fair on either of them.

He'd be better off dead.

Gritting his teeth, he made up his mind. He resolved to end it all. He would join the Red Wolves in Morr's Kingdom, and take his place in the legends of the past.

'Finally, you have come,' the warrior intoned from the depths of his iron helm. He was huge, a giant of a man, every inch of him clad in silver chaos armour. Tall, sweeping horns curved upwards from his brow, and his balefire eyes glowed behind his visor. In one hand he carried a massive, skull-bedecked axe that gleamed with chaos runes. 'I was starting to get bored.' He indicated a pile of severed heads.

'Wait,' Magnus snarled, narrowing his eyes. 'I know you…'

He harkened back to the earlier times, battling through the Daemon Labyrinth, trudging across the Seas of Desolation and navigating the Forest of the Damned. They had slain many monsters, and overcome many perils. Some of them had fallen, but they had soldiered on. One of their most deadly foes had been a mighty warrior of chaos, a champion of the Dark Gods, who had used the name of…Gaaroth.

'So, you recognise me.' The voice sounded like steel dragged across granite.

'Indeed, Gaaroth.' Magnus nodded. He glanced around the chamber, at the eight brass-bound chests, the stacks of gleaming weapons and the two giant, slavering wolves resting on either side of Gaaroth's golden throne. 'I see you've being doing well.'

'Magnus Glint,' Gaaroth replied, 'the last of the Red Wolves. You should know that the name Gaaroth no longer serves a purpose. It was the will of my master, Kharon Baal, that I guide you through his twisted maze. It was his will that you embark on this wild-goose chase, this fool's errand to recover his book. You have all been duped. There is no book.'

Magnus' armoured fists clenched and the light of courage born of heroes came into his eyes.

'I said I'd take care of you, but I never got the chance. Now, I will follow through with that promise!' He gave a roar like a lion, and hefted his zweihander. The chaos champion laughed as Magnus launched himself forwards.

'My true name is Raknor Longfang. And I will be your slayer.'

The two warriors, champions of light and darkness, crashed together, causing an explosion of gold and red sparks that shook the chamber with its thunder.

Back and forth the champions struggled, as Gregore, Raphael and Katarina fought to hold back the tide of chaos warriors flowing from side doors like a living wave of burnished black steel. Magnus' sword screeched in protest as the Axe of Mighty Striking slammed into its blade, sliding up its length, the chaotic runes burning with blue fire. Raknor let go of his axe with one hand and clubbed Magnus in the face with an armoured gauntlet. The knight faltered, spitting blood, and in his moment of weakness Raknor rammed his knee into Magnus's gut. Magnus hit the flagstones.

'Did you really think you could recover the book? Fool, you will never win!'

The chaos champion's sabaton cracked into Magnus' side, throwing him across the room. The knight smacked into one of the chests with a sickening crunch. Yet he still gripped his sword. With agonizing slowness he rose to his feet.

'As long as I draw breath…I will fight you!' The zweihander rose steadily to point at the ceiling. 'Come and die, Raknor of the long fang!'

Raknor roared like a beast and charged forwards, his boots thundering on the ground like the tread of a giant ogre. As he raised his axe to strike, Magnus swept his blade down in a cutting arc. One of Raknor's horns was sliced clean off, sailing through the air. Unperturbed, the warrior slammed the butt of his axe into the knight's helm, sending Magnus reeling. In response Magnus lashed out, cleaving into his foe's side. Black blood burst from the wound, but Magnus continued with an overhead arc, giving Raknor no respite. The sword slashed through Raknor's wrist, severing the hand which parted with another spray of black blood. Raknor roared in pain, taking a step backwards. Seizing another chance, Magnus followed through. Reversing his grip on the blade, he drew it back and slammed it point forwards into Raknor's chest.

Raknor gave vent to an almighty bellow and, with a flick of his axe, hurled Magnus across the room. Tugging the zweihander free, he threw it down and kicked it towards the fallen knight. Struggling to his feet, his vision blurry, Magnus reached out and scooped up the sword as Raknor rushed towards him. Even with blood pouring from the wound, the chaos warrior was a fearsome opponent. He brought the axe crashing down on Magnus' shoulder, the blade biting deep and nearly severing his arm. The knight bellowed and barely parried as the axe rose again and came arcing towards his head. Parrying desperately, sparks flying from the clashing weapons, Magnus backpedalled across the room as the blood-mad juggernaut hacked and cut with great sweeps of his axe, regardless of his lost hand. The daemonic weapon screamed in his ears, its voice filling his head with terror and the promise of an eternity of blood and torture. Time and again he failed to block an incoming blow and the Axe of Mighty Striking sliced through his armour, spilling his crimson blood to mingle with Raknor's black on the blood-slick floor. He cried out in pain, but he knew he had to continue to fight, he could not run.

He would _not_ run.

This is how he wanted it to end.

Another blow buffeted his helmet, tearing it from his head and leaving an inch-deep gash across his forehead. Blood ran down into his eyes but he fought on, parrying another blow that would've cut his torso in half. Raknor's armoured boot lashed out, sending him crashing to the ground. He rolled aside seconds before the daemon axe bit home, its blade burying itself in the floor. He plunged his sword into Raknor's leg, leaping to his feet and pulling the blade free just as the next attack came scything down. But he managed to parry again, the champions' weapons shrieking their defiance. Minutes passed, and Magnus didn't know how long they had been fighting. He didn't care, this was the last fight of his life, he knew it, it was certain now. His comrades were lost to him in the swirl of combat. Each blow sent thunder rocketing around the inside of his skull, the impact jarring his limbs.

Raknor, seemingly insane with rage at this mere mortal who dared to defy him, who refused to lie down and die, slammed his axe into the zweihander once again. Gold fire burst from the union of blades, but soon vanished as Raknor roared in anger. Kneeing Magnus in the chest, he sent the knight onto his knees. Pressing hard with all his unholy strength, he forced the greatsword back until it was pressed against Magnus' throat.

'Give in, mortal, you are dead!' Locking gazes with his foe, the chaos champion grinned as he saw the momentary fear that gripped the knight. But then that fear vanished, to be replaced with undying courage. Blazing blue eyes stared unblinking back at Raknor's red orbs and gritted teeth clenched in a powerful jaw.

In the face of death, Magnus stood firm.

'Go to hell, bastard.'

'You cannot win!' Raknor roared at the unyielding man. Raising his left arm, he smashed the greatsword out of Magnus' hands. Then his axe slammed down, carving a bloody fissure into the knight's chest.

Time seemed to slow down as Magnus fell backwards, reeling from the fatal blow. His sword spun away from him, starlight flashing from the spinning blade. The ground rose up to meet him, and suddenly his back slammed into it with bone-jarring force. He coughed blood, and the towering figure of Raknor leaned over him, a shadow with burning red eyes.

'You have lost, Magnus Glint. And now, you die.'

For a moment Magnus was silent, blood pulsating from his cloven chest.

'You are wrong, Raknor Longfang…' he breathed, '…for I have all ready won.'

With vision dimming, Magnus closed his eyes.

And so it was that a great hero passed from this age of the world.

'No!' Katarina screamed as she saw Magnus fall. Surrounded by black armoured warriors, fighting a battle for their very survival, the three remaining comrades were being pushed back towards the doorway. Their armour and bodies torn and bloody, exhaustion claiming them with even Raphael feeling the tedium, they would soon be overwhelmed.

'We must retreat!' Gregore shouted above the battle-din. He parried a blow from a spiked mace, feeling the crunching impact shuddering through his sword arm. Smashing outwards with his shield, he barged into the warrior, knocking him off his feet. 'Katarina, come on!'

The sorceress's hands flashed with bright fire, burning warriors all around her. She was pushing forwards towards the dead knight.

'Foolish wench,' Raphael roared, his eyes blazing. Turning momentarily to Gregore, he issued curt orders. 'Back to the door! Take the right tunnel! I'll be right behind you!' As the Kossar nodded Raphael lunged forwards like a panther and seized Katarina's robes. She resisted but his superior strength prevailed. With her kicking and screaming, he dragged her back and hefted her struggling body, fending off the attack of another warrior. An axe slammed into his shoulder but he gritted his teeth and shrugged off the pain. His riposte impaled the warrior's face and a swift kick to the man's body opened a path to the doorway.

'Let me go!' Katarina shrieked. 'Raphael, let me go, you must let me go!' With grim silence the vampire ignored her cries and leapt into the corridor.

Down the passage they ran, their boots clattering on the bronze flagstones. Behind them a wave of black armour followed, like a swarm of giant cockroaches. The bellowing of Raknor echoed in the confines of the tunnel, his deep voice filled with bestial hate.

They emerged into another chamber, this one a large cave partially fortified with ancient dwarven pillars. A massive tremor shook the walls, and rocks plummeted from the ceiling. A boulder came crashing down and Gregore lost his footing. As Raphael leapt past him the warriors flooded into the room. The Kossar struggled upright just as his enemies reached him. His limbs were aching, a gash in his side was leaking blood onto the floor and his left ear had been sheared off, leaving a bloody hole in the side of his head. His ribs were broken too, of that he was sure. He had never fought so hard in his life, but he knew that every warrior he killed was in vengeance for the loss of his family. Noticing the man's plight, Raphael turned about but Gregore cried out.

'Get out of here! Run!' He looked back for a second as a massive iron hammer smashed into his shield. When the vampire hesitated he cursed and turned away. 'I said run you foul bastard of the night! I'll hold them back. Do as I say! Get her away from here!'

A broadsword, lined with vicious spikes on each side, arched downwards towards his head. He parried but as he did the hammer slashed inwards at his left. Unable to do anything but defend, he stepped backwards to try and evade the blows, parrying the sword with a burst of sparks. But the hammer slammed into his side, knocking him down and sending his shield flying. Within seconds he was surrounded by a mass of armoured warriors.

Raphael watched impassively as Gregore was rammed off his feet. He couldn't see the Kossar anymore, and his eyes flicked up just as Raknor burst into the chamber, wreathed in crackling red fire. The champion was regenerating, he realized, watching as Raknor's left wrist sprouted a new hand. In an instant he knew he could not best this foe. Bleeding and without support, he would be cut down like a child. Tightening his grip on the screaming sorceress, the vampire took advantage of Gregore's sacrifice and fled.

Raknor's laugher rang out as he stalked towards the fallen man, his warriors hacking downwards with their heavy iron weapons. Blood vomited from Gregore's mouth and the stump of muscle where his left arm used to be as the evil soldiers battered his body, smashing through his armour and opening great rents that erupted blood and gore.

'Enough!' The Chaos Champion roared, shouldering his minions out of the way and standing over Gregore. Raised axes, hammers and swords halted in mid strike. Reaching down, Raknor grasped Gregore around the throat and hauled him into the air, where the man dangled like a broken doll.

'Ah, Gregore Kaulsson, the Kislevite fool. I very much enjoyed killing your mother and sister before I offered their skulls to Kharon. Oh yes, they are with the gods, now, serving an eternity of suffering in the realm of chaos. And now it is time for you to join them!'

'You're right,' Gregore managed through bloody lips. Blood pumped rhythmically from his severed left arm. 'I will join them. But first I kill you murderer!' The Kossar roared wordlessly and lifted his sword weakly. With the last of his strength, he rammed it at the champion's breast.

There was a horrible shattering sound and Gregore stared horrified at his broken blade. Raknor burst into laughter, his evil mirth mocking and humiliating.

With a twist, he snapped Gregore's neck.

As the light faded from his eyes, Gregore Kaulsson watched the world falling.

6


End file.
